


a memoir to the fallen

by unfinished (heizl)



Series: fic graveyard [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Basically this is just a ton of stories and ideas I've had since 2016 that were never completed, Chapters are individually tagged, Drabble Collection, Gen, Incomplete Stories, M/M, One Shot Collection, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/unfinished
Summary: Fallen fics, I mean. :'-)tl;dr— this is a collection of Marvel-centric stories that were never finished in one way or another, and had been left in docs to die. Instead of letting them collect dust, they're being posted here in their uncompleted states. These stories are in varying states of decay, where some chapters will contain 18k worth of story with no conclusion, and others will just be ideas and prompts jotted down.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: fic graveyard [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198601
Kudos: 3





	1. Introduction

Hello there, and welcome to this collection of unfinished stories, and ideas, that make me want to cry a little on the inside! I just wanted to take the time to write a quick introduction note here to **a** ) explain what will be posted here / how it'll be formatted and **b** ) a little nostalgic recollection _of_ the stories posted here, because I really am sad that they never got finished. I think about them all the time... that's why they're finally here, so I can stop feeling guilty about them being put to rest lmao.

If you want to skip the sappy recap, scroll to the end of this if you're curious about the update schedule, what's going to be here, etc. Or, skip this chapter entirely! Whatever floats your boat. :-)

* * *

**A lil background**

It feels weird to write about stories in a perspective like this because I usually don't do author notes and just post chapters. But all the stories / ideas / whatever you want to call them posted here are more uh, personal I guess? A lot of the things written here are Stucky centric, written between 2016-2019. And I used to write _so_ much Stucky, to the point that I just don't care about the pairing or characters all that much anymore, because it was my way of coping with irl trauma. Over those years, I found myself in some, let's just say, not so wholesome relationships. And as a form of escapism and dissociation, I'd write these stories, or put myself in these characters places so I could better deal with my own life. Bucky (and Steve, but moreso the former) were always comfort characters for me, because despite Bucky having trauma from being brainwashed by comic book nazis, I could look at him and relate. Relate to the trauma and pain he endured, but also be reassured everything was going to be okay. He made it out in the end, and I used him as motivation and a beckon of hope? 

A lot of the reoccuring themes in these stories is sadness, whether it's through depiction of self harm, mental hospitals, eating disorders, depression, whatever. Looking back on them now is hard, because I can still remember what I was thinking as I wrote them, but writing fic was one of the only healthy coping methods I had at the time. When I couldn't do anything else, sometimes I'd just write all day long because it felt like it was the only way I could express what I was feeling and going through. 

Stucky reminds me a lot of my ex, and that's why a lot of these became unfinished. Because thinking about Bucky, didn't matter if it was the actual character or just a muse for projecting onto, freaked me out. But I want to change that and not associate these characters with a controlling, narcissistic bully and instead appreciate these stories for what they helped me with at the time.

I'm now 5 years in recovery from ED, and while I still use fics as a way to vent and deal with shit, I feel like I can still be my own person outside of them. 

* * *

**Regarding updates, pairings, etc**

  * Tags will be updated with relationships / characters as they come up. Each individual chapter will be given its own tags and warnings so the main tags don't get uber cluttered.



  * Chapters will be titled with what pairing / character / group they're about. Example: Stucky #3, or Avengers #1, or Peter Parker. Each chapter will have a short summary on what it's about, and be individually titled within the story. 



  * Will probably be updated every other day, or sooner, before all the drafts expire. All of this stuff is imported from docs or nimble writer, so it's just waiting to be organized lmao



  * Not every story is about Steve and Bucky. There's going to be a lot of general Marvel stuff, like Avengers storylines, Wanda, Guardians of the Galaxy, etc. 



  * Everything in here is incomplete. There's going to be chapters that are 20k in words because it's an entire story that has no conclusion. There's going to be collections of ideas for stories grouped together. There's going to be half written things with author notes and jotted down context for how it's _supposed_ to end. This is also part of a series / collection thing that has other incomplete stories that were too large to post in here. 



  * Ideas and anything written in here is open for completion. If there's a prompt you like, I have no objections to anyone using the stories. :-)



**Some of the things that will be posted here include** :

\- How Steve and Bucky met as kids (modern setting).

-Steve and Bucky as rebellious teenagers.

-Steve and Bucky going to a comic book convention.

-Various prompts and storylines for Stucky (modern day oneshots, hospital AUs, silly things) 

-GOTG crossover with John Carpenter's The Thing

-Storyline for an Avengers docu-style TV show (before IW / Endgame)

-A Spiderman oneshot

-Tony helping Bucky deal with anxiety 

-And probably a lot of other stuff as I find it lmao

* * *

To anyone reading this right now, thank you so much for reading and scrolling through all this, haha. I hope you do enjoy what's posted here, and possibly find some inspiration from it! Writing is an amazing thing to do, whether it comes in the form of original fiction, fics, or journaling even.

I wish I still cared enough about Marvel to write as much as I used to, but I just like occasionally watching the movies and tv shows now. Smh. I love the fandom though, really. Met so many cool people through this fandom via Amino, Tumblr, dA, Discord, Instagram, and conventions. 

So yeah, thank you for reading! And I hope you enjoy! :-)


	2. Stucky #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, his dad was taken from him. And before he knew it, now they weren't in Indiana anymore. James was in a new strange place, in a tiny cramped apartment that was loud, sleeping in a bed that wasn't the one he'd picked out. 
> 
> Everything was too overwhelming for his child mind to process, and he just... needed it to slow down. Or at least find someone he could talk to, find a friend that would make him feel a little less scared.
> 
> So, he did. He met a tiny blond that'd never left Brooklyn before, and was instantly infatuated with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern day AU. No powers, no Avengers. They're both kids, about 6/7ish or so. Steve is in the same class as Bucky because he started a grade ahead or something.

**That time Steve and Bucky met**

* * *

**September 8th, 1999**

“Now, James,” his mom was slowly combing through his wet, slicked back hair with a single hand, cradling his snoring baby sister in her other arm. “Auntie Liv is going to pick you up from school today, okay?”

“Okay ma,” the young James responded with a gentle nod of his head, eyes dancing around the cramped apartment eagerly. His thumbs were looped under the straps of his brand new, navy blue backpack, feet tapping against the wooden legs of a dining room chair.

“Don’t leave the school yard until you see her, alright, sweetheart?” Flipping the plastic brush around in her fingers, she set it down on the table beside them, pushing forward his bagged lunch.

“ _Okay_ , ma. I get it,” he pushed out a huff of air, pulling the paper bag onto his lap, finger hooked around the top edge. He peered at the sandwich his mom had wrapped up for him, a small bag of dinosaur-shaped gummies and a grape juice box accompanying it. He reached for the juice box, plucking off the straw and stabbing it through the top all in a swift movement. 

His mom’s lips formed a thin line. She pushed herself up from her own chair, pulling another juice box from the fridge— apple this time —and set it down inside the paper sack. “Are you ready to go? Do you have everything you need?” 

Craning his neck, he watched as his mom unzipped the backpack and shuffled through its contents; they’d went shopping for new school supplies the day they got into Brooklyn, about a week ago. He never liked shopping much, hated when he had to get new clothes or when his mom tugged him to the grocery store, but his excitement had bubbled at the surface when he stumbled across a set of of _G.I. Joe_ themed supplies— a folder featuring his favorite characters, Duke and Hawk, a pencil case of Cobra Commander, and a backpack featuring the whole crew. 

“I think so. S’not like we’re gonna even be doing much, it’s usually just the introductions,” she lifted the sack from James’ lap, shimmying it into his bag. Rebecca still in her arms, she pulled a black, folded up stroller that was leaning in the corner of the kitchen, carefully extending it. She rested his sister in the seat, clicking the seatbelt firmly across her small waist.

“Alright. Let’s get a move on then! Don’t wanna be late for your first day, right?” she held out her hand, James hurrying over to her, his grape juice forgotten on the table. Pushing the stroller towards the front door, she led them out of aunt Olivia’s apartment and into the warm, late-summer Brooklyn air.

“You think the other kids will talk to me?” he asked quietly as they walked, looking up at his mom’s tired face. She met his glance with a genuine smile, tapping his nose with a painted nail.

“What’s there not to like?” his hold on his mom’s hand grew tighter the closer they came to the school grounds, the sounds of children cheerfully yelling and chattering traveling through his ears. He was nervous, to say the least, not only about being the new kid in town but new to the entire state itself.

“I ‘unno ma, but no one ever wanted to be friends at my old school,” his attention diverted from his mom and sister to a family of three crossing the street, a little girl holding either of her parent’s hands; her dad was deep in conversation with her laughing mom, the child skipping happily along the painted crosswalk lines of the street between them.

The longer James watched them, the more he felt his chin start to shiver, sucking in his lips at the taste of salt building up in the back of his throat. He pulled on his mom’s fingers, nervously fidgeting with them; he felt upset, like the kind of upset he felt the night he locked himself in his old bedroom closet with his favorite blanket thrown over his head, praying under his breath to anyone that was listening to let him have his dad back. 

His mom’s head snapped back to him at the first sniffle he made. She instantly pulled the stroller to a fence, leveling onto a knee to look James in his blurred eyes. She cupped the nape of his neck, brushing away the few loose hot tears that had made it down his cheeks. 

“I miss dad,” his already squeaky voice cracked, his shoulders shaking.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she pulled him into her arms, hugging him tightly. He was looking around nervously, his face falling more each time he saw another kid look his direction, some with what he thought were mocking smirks. He leaned against his mom with another sharp sniffle.

“I wish he was here.”

“Me too, sweetie,” her fingers combed through the roots of his short, now mostly dry, locks. “He would be here with us if he could. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

At the sound of Rebecca cooing and babbling herself awake, he took in a long, shaky breath and patted his mom on the shoulder. He rubbed his nose into the crook of his elbow, against the fabric of his lightweight hoodie. She stood up slowly with a low grunt, tickling under his baby sister’s chin before taking ahold of his small hand once again. 

His nerves became uncomfortably jittery the moment they reached the outside gates of the elementary school, his stomach audibly churning. Kids were flowing into the front doors, talking about their summer vacations loudly and hugging each other with loud squeals of joy. 

“You’ll be fine, Jamesy,” his mom said, planting a kiss atop his head. “You remember our phone number, right?”

“Yes,” James replied as they reached the concrete steps leading up to the front door. His mom let go of his hand briefly to hoist the stroller onto the stoop, James hopping up each step with a forced jump and a light giggle. 

“If anything happens, you go to the office and call home, alright?” 

“Okay.” They stopped outside the classroom of his new first grade class, James nervously peering inside; other parents were gathered around with disposable cups of steaming coffee in their hands, chit-chatting amongst themselves. A redhead with circular wire-framed glasses skirted around over to them, her heels clacking against linoleum tile. She peered down at James, her cheeks raised with a wide grin.

“Hi,” she extended her arm to his mom, her voice nothing less of chipper, “I’m Ms. Whittaker.”

“Winifred,” she smoothed the back of his hair as he tugged on her skirt, “James’ mom. I think I spoke to you on the phone yesterday?” 

“Yes, that was me,” she laughed gently, bending down to meet James’ height, her nose wrinkling as she spoke, “Welcome to New York, James! Your mom said your family just moved here from Indiana.”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, his teacher gesturing for them to come inside. His eyes were again bouncing around, taking in his surroundings; rounded tables were placed center of the room, accompanied by plastic chairs. The walls were decorated in brightly colored posters of cartoons and recently released movies — he beamed at a poster from _Ghostbusters_ , his all-time favorite movie. Nearing the back of the room was a large aquarium set atop a short bookshelf, multiple goldfish swimming around the neatly decorated habitat.

His mom pulled his backpack from his shoulders, placing it inside a wooden cubby. On the edge of the shelf, she placed a piece of blue tape with his name written on it in Sharpie. “This is where you store your things, honey. Don’t forget to grab your backpack before you leave.”

He nodded absent-mindedly, wandering off to slide a chair out. He sat down in the chair with his legs crossed over one another, fingers drumming on the table. He peered at his mom, still talking to his new teacher, Rebecca kicking her feet back and forth against the stroller.

“Can I sit here?”James looked over his shoulder, a boy even shorter than him clutching the top of the chair beside him, twiddling with his fingers. He was biting his lower lip, his huge blue eyes focused on James, overgrown blond bangs cluttered together. He almost wanted to laugh at the kid, not out of spite but because of how out of place he looked, with his intensely freckled face and bagged clothes that clearly didn’t fit his slender form.

“‘Course,” he felt himself grinning, watching as the small kid scooted himself into the seat, throwing his own backpack under the table. He laced his hands together in front of himself.

“James,” his mom leaned over, kissing his cheek. “I’ll be home around dinnertime, okay, sweetheart? Have a good day,” he watched as she waved at the shy kid next to him, his eyebrows raising as he timidly waved back. “You’ll be just fine. Looks like you made friends already.”

At the sound of the heavy wooden door clicking shut, his new teacher clapped her hands together, trying to calm the rowdy class. As other children came to claim their own seats, James found himself again glancing towards the fidgeting blond, his feet swinging back and forth.

Their teacher cleared her throat, projecting her voice enough to be heard of the mindless chitter-chatter. “Alright, everyone! I know today is _very exciting,_ ” she begun, swiveling on her feet to wheel a metal cart to the center of the room. Stacked among its levels were blue plastic tubs, full of what seemed to be long pieces of construction paper; each tub contained a different color, from stark white to lime green. She continued speaking, pulling the top off a cardboard box, plucking out a thin marker.

“Since today is our first day together, your assignment will be, simply, to get to know each other!” With her free hand, she pulled out a sheet of pink paper, tapping the capped end of the marker against a corner. “I’d like everyone to pair up with the person sitting beside you and draw each other as what you’d like to be when you grow up. So, have fun and get those creative juices flowing!” Setting the art supplies down on her desk, she twisted the handle of an apple shaped kitchen timer.

Eager to get started, James shuffled around in his seat the minute their teacher stopped talking, an elbow pressed firm against the hard surface of the tabletop. The other boy was looking right back at him with an expression that couldn’t be described as anything less than terrified. His brows, much darker than the hair atop his head, were scrunched together forcibly, his lips nearly forming a thin line.

Of course James was dealing with his own nerves, his repetitively tapping foot giving that away, but he didn’t want this to be a repeat of his last year at school; no friends and shunned by basically anyone he tried talking to. With a short and sharp inhale, he let go of his breath as he softly spoke, “Guess that makes us a team, huh?”

“Oh, uh,” his eyes quickly darted to the floor, though James could see faint dimples forming on his reddening cheeks, “I guess so, yeah.”

“Hey,” he (accidently) jostled the kid as he grabbed his slender shoulder, thumb brushing the ribbed collar of his shirt. “You don’t gotta be so scared,” James found himself chuckling, “think we’ll get along fine!”

He pushed his hand away with a shake of his head, flustered. “I’m _not_ scared,” he was practically _whining_ at this point, which was also the point that James realized he had one of those New York accents he’d always heard on the radio.

“Alright, sure. Whatever you say, uh,” he was pushing the chair back in, tilting his head the minute he realized he still didn’t even know this kid’s name. “You got something I can call you?”

“Like a— a name?”

“Yeah. You got one?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” he slumped forward, yanking his navy blue backpack onto his lap, flipping it over as he started unzipping the front pocket. James had catch his breath; a shock of electricity jumped down his spine when he realized _why_ that backpack looked so familiar, longingly admiring the crew of his favorite G.I. Joe characters. “I’m Ste—”

James cut him off, pointing hastily at the design, unable to contain his toothy grin. “I got the same one!” he gestured over his shoulder at the cubby. “Me and my dad watched that cartoon every Saturday morning.”

“My mom watches it with me sometimes. It’s one of my favorites,” he was grinning right back at him, “Always wished I could be friends with Hawk.”

“Really?” he skirted around the back of his seat, strolling to the metal cart. Pushing off the tips of his feet, he felt inside the buckets, pulling out two pieces of white paper and a handful of mismatched markers. He set the supplies in front of his new friend, the markers starting to roll to the other end of the table. “I think Duke’s really awesome.”

The blond twirled a ball-pointed pen between his fingers. “Yeah, Duke’s cool too. So, uh,” he was already starting to scribble out something on the paper, something that he recognized to be the Cobra Commander. “What d’ya wanna do when you get older?”

James watched as he went back over his crude lines, pushing the tip of his pen harder into the paper, sliding up the curve of the Commander’s helmet. “Hey, that’s really good,” James mumbled, scratching at his chin. “I don’t know, maybe the army… How about you?”

“‘Unno, making comics looks kinda neat,” he set the pen down, reaching for a marker. With a swift movement, he flipped the paper around to its blank side. “Don’cha think?” 

* * *

(Notes for unfinished ending)

-At lunch, he sees Steve again and a few kids surrounding him near the jungle gym. They push him to the ground and James jumps up, leaving his lunch on the table. He goes over and pushes the main bully. He ends up shoving him back and he falls next to Steve. He yells at them to leave him alone, and they all leave eventually.

-The fight gets broken up. Steve has a bruise on his cheek and James has a few scuffs. He brushes himself off and helps up Steve, pulling him to his feet. He says “what was your name again?” and he says Steve. James says again that he’s James and Steve smiles at him. He’s very shy and quiet. James asks him if he wants to come sit with him and so he does. 

-He probably asks if kids do that a lot to him and he nods. Steve then eventually asks about Indiana, and where that is. He sees James’s backpack and they talk about G.I. Joe, He-Man and Star Wars.

-They get pulled into the principal’s office and both their moms are called, but neither can show up (Steve's mom is working in the NICU, James' mom is unreachable). As they’re waiting in the office, Steve looks at James’ GI Joe bag and says how he also really likes the show, watches it every Sunday morning. 

-Principle asks what happened and they say they got in a fight and James defends them. Says that those kids were bullying Steve and he was trying to protect him. He tries to call their mothers again, but no one will answer. So he lets them go with a warning that he'd have to write letters for their guardians, and needed to speak with them at some point. 

-Bucky finds himself continuing to glance at him throughout the rest of the day. He sees Steve looking at him too and he giggles everytime he looks over. He doesn't care anymore if they're in trouble.

-The bell rings and when he’s waiting for his aunt to come pick him up, he sees Steve. He runs over to him and Steve greets him with a smile. He points to a woman that looks similar to him and say it’s his mom. She walks over and asks who Steve’s new friend is. He introduces himself as James.

-His aunt picks him up and James starts talking about Steve. When he gets home, he’s still going on and on about him. He then tells him mom. Eventually, his mom finds out about the fight, but she's moreso understanding that James was trying to protect his new friend. She still warns him and he's not allowed tv for the rest of the night.

-The next day, he sees Steve again. Steve runs up to him before class starts, says he has something for him but the bell rings. He finds Steve at recess and he has a comic in his hands and hands him a drawing. It’s a drawing of them as Duke and Hawk, James as Duke because Steve thought he was really cool.

-He throws his arms around James and holds onto him. James hugs him back and thanks him.

-After school ends, James’s mom comes to get him. Sarah is also there. Steve and James are talking and James says “oh, that's my mom!” and Steve says his is there too. Their moms meet and James’ mom asks if they want to come over, their place is just up the block, and there’s a park nearby. 

-They end up going to the park. Steve and James play together. James asks where Steve’s dad was and Steve’s face instantly falls. He stumbles over his words and says he doesn’t have a dad. James ends up saying he didn’t either.

-Steve says they should become best friends. James asks what the difference between a normal friend and a best friend is. Steve shrugs and says he doesn’t know, but it sounded cooler. 

* * *

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written 2018.


	3. Stucky #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky grew up attached at the hip, so it was only the natural second step that you'd fall in love with your best friend, right? Well, no, because maybe Steve didn't feel the same way as him. And actually, now that Bucky thought about it, he had a lot of friends he'd known since grade school and he wasn't in love with them. 
> 
> It was probably just a dumb crush anyways. He'd get over it in no time (he'd been telling himself for years). 
> 
> No, he wouldn't tell Steve even if he thought the feelings were reciprocated because he didn't want to ruin what they had. Steve was his... he was his only friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern day setting where they're teenagers, no powers / no Avengers. Implied depression / suicidal thoughts, but nothing in depth. 
> 
> Chapter is mostly done with a few notes of what was supposed to be added at the end.

**Sleepless in Brooklyn**

**Steve** \- 7:01 AM  
did you ever get any sleep last night

 **Bucky** \- 7:01 AM  
Obviously not  
If I was still sending you shit at 4am

 **Steve** \- 7:01 AM  
thats not good buck :-/  
howre you gonna even stay awake in class

 **Bucky** \- 7:02 AM  
Have Clint punch me when I start drifting off?

 **Steve** \- 7:02 AM  
smh  
im gonna come over soon ok  
we can get coffee or smthn before class

 **Bucky** \- 7:02 AM  
Sounds good, Stevie

 **Steve** \- 7:06 AM  
:-)   
omw

The morning doves chirped and the turning yellow leaves fell from trees that leveled the height of his open window. His eyes squinted as he took another long drag of smoke. Sometimes he'd do this. Pry the screen from his window and dangle his legs onto their roof, smoking and taking in the crisp, not quite humid yet air of the morning. He felt like his cigarette: burnt out. He crushed it out into the marble ashtray he normally kept hidden deep in his dresser. As he scrolled through Steve's messages for the twentieth time, he felt his stomach clenching. He wasn't ready for the day to start. School, he fucking _resented_ it. Maybe because of the memories he had attached to the place, shit teachers and even _shittier_ kids.

But maybe it was also because he felt like he was drowning, knee deep in quicksand, and mind a bottomless pit that sucked away any energy or joy he kept. He pulled out another cigarette when he saw Steve walking up their driveway. Dumbass always walked himself over to their house so _Bucky_ could drive him. Not like he minded though. As sad as he felt, he was at least happy he could drive now. And had his own escape vehicle. 

The cigarette hung from his lips, unlit. And he kept watching Steve. The sun was starting to stretch its arms and wake up for the day. Though he was more of a dirty blond, he looked almost golden under sunlight. Or maybe he just always looked like that in his eyes. He fidgeted for his lighter, inhaling through his nostrils. Damn birds, still singing to each other. It was like everyone was so eager to be up that morning. His mom banging around in the kitchen, Rebecca waking up an hour earlier than he did to scream about how excited she was.

But Bucky, all he wanted to do was disappear. Not even in the sense of throwing himself back in bed and drifting off into a sleep. But just… right now, he didn't want to be in his skin. He felt so uncomfortable, itching to just not be himself for a day. No matter how much he smoked, or how many photos of Steve and him from summer vacation he stared at, nothing helped. He knew he'd been stashing his pills in his backpack. The one place his mom never bothered to check. Lied about going to therapy still, and surprisingly, never got caught yet.

He ran a hand through his hair. It'd grown out again, long enough he could put it in a bun. Long enough for it to get tangled when he didn't give a shit about taking care of his appearance, too. 

"Sweetheart," his mom's voice carried upstairs. She'd been dinking around the kitchen since early that morning, making breakfast and lunch for them. Continuous pots and pans clanking, which is why he knew he could get away with smoking half a carton and not get caught. Plus, one of Rebecca's annoying friends had spent their last weekend of summer vacation over, so she was very preoccupied, trying to keep a couple of rambunctious preteens calm. 

"Steve here?" Bucky asked, though flat, because it's not like he didn't already know the answer to that.

"He is. I made pancakes for you both; you better get down here before Rebecca and Cassie finish them all."

"S'fine. Send him up here. I'll be down soon," he lazily called back. His sisters friend being over gave him more of an excuse to stay recluse. Not change out of the same pair of sweatpants he'd been wearing for five days. Everything felt fucking out of control, and yet, as he stared at the burning tip of his cig, he still felt oddly calm despite his inner turnmoil of despair.

Suitcases still littered his floor from their yearly Indiana visit. Not to mention the tossed about sheets and other misplaced comics and what have yous. His laptop was still on, a low hum from leaving it on all night. It's like he couldn't fall asleep anymore without having _something_ on, keeping him company. He needed the sound of someone talking to guide him to sleep, or he'd go insane with pure dark silence. Focus too hard on trying to sleep he'd talk himself out of it.

His room reeked of smoke. He knew Steve wasn't a tattletale though, because Bucky had more dirt on him than any one man should. Probably wouldn't be too happy to find Bucky with a carton clutched like a security blanket. But, would he even be surprised…?

A knock, "You decent?" before the door creaked open, right as Bucky answered, "decent enough." He looked over his shoulder.

Steve sighed. He still had a sunburn, and it made Bucky suck in his lips. "What're you doing?"

"I don't want to hear it." There was a pinwheel in the neighbors yard. Shaped like a sunflower and tacky, like the rest of their house (really, who paints their house pistachio green). Bucky always figured he'd be like that though, if he ever owned a house in the future. The sort of guy to put those pink flamingos everywhere and hang a pirate flag from his balcony. 

" _Fine_." The bed creaked, and he felt Steve looking at him. Could almost feel his breath against his back, but he didn't want to look. "Are you nervous about today?"

His hand was shaking. "No."

"Then, why the hell are you smoking?"

He dared to crane his neck again. That's when he got his first real good glimpse of Steve that day. Dressed in one of his stupidly fitted sweatervests, with his new glasses on (the ones he had to get because he lost his others swimming in the ocean last week, definitely not Bucky's fault at all), and dumb matching suspenders. A complete contrast to Bucky's all black everything and dark aura. Steve was always bright, dressed bright, smile bright. 

Bucky pulled the cigarette from his lips. Half lit at this point, but his fingers twitched again. Hands still shaking, but not from discomfort now. Fuck, he wanted to grip his bony little shoulders and shove him flat against his bed. Kiss him like a dog off a leash, no restraint. Selfishly drag his fingers across his skin, kiss down his chin… he wondered how he'd react. If he'd wrap his arms around his neck and kiss him back, let out little noises of nothing and keep him close. Or if he'd be shy, blushing in that way he always did, acting innocent, like Bucky knew he wasn't. Or if he'd even kiss him back at all. 

"Hello?" Steve waved his hand so close to him, he almost smacked his nose. "You gonna answer me, or did I lose you already?"

The thoughts, they were all fantasy. Bucky knew that. He'd never actually _act_ on them. Steve was his best friend. This little crush, because that's all it could ever be, he'd suddenly developed (rather, been secretly harvesting for years now) would blow over within time. Would become a thing of the past he could laugh about, think about how stupid he was, thinking Steve would ever look at him the way he looked at Steve. They had bigger things to worry about anyways. Like, uh, college. If Bucky was even _going_ to go to college, like his mom wanted. And jobs. 

"I don't wanna talk about it, Steve."

Steve's lips pursed. "You look like shit."

Bucky glanced away, before Steve cleared his throat. He didn't like when he ignored him. He crushed his cig, carefully sliding back inside. "Yeah, well. What's new."

He slammed his window shut, reaching for a bottle of Febreeze he kept on his nightstand. When he finally settled down next to Steve, pulling a blanket onto his lap, he knew Steve wanted more. His eyebrow was quirked, cheeks sucked in.

"I don't feel too hot."

"Are you...sick? 'cause smoking ain't gonna help if you got a co—"

"No." He scratched his chin. "Well, maybe. I don't know. Not cold sick at least."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, Steve. I just feel," he squirmed. About to swing his legs off the bed and put his cigs back in their hidey-hole, he felt fingers wrap around his wrist. 

"Just talk to me."

He let out a long, shaky breath, " _sad_."

"About what? About today?"

"No. I… I don't know. Nothing in particular, really. I just _am_."

"Are you still taking your meds?"

Bucky looked away, and that was Steve's second large sigh of the day. And it wasn't even noon. "Buck."

"I don't like them. Make me feel lethargic, and I never get anything done."

"Then you talk to your doctor and try to find a better fit."

"What if I don't _need_ them though, Steve. I'm not crazy—"

"No one said you _were_."

"I just have a cynical view on life. More accurate one, maybe. 'cause I know it's all fuckin' pointless. Why try faking happiness when we're all gonna die anyways."

"While you're not wrong," Steve's hand moved to his knee, "I don't think life is entirely pointless. You have me, and we do fun stuff together, right?"

Bucky's expression grew softer. He nodded. "Right."

"So, see. Not _entirely_ pointless."

Bucky nodded again. He rested his hand over Steve's, lightly giving him a squeeze. They were staring into each other's eyes, blue meeting silver and silver studying blues. Breakfast was a long forgotten concept in his mind. Steve's adams apple bobbed. He saw his chest puff. And he didn't want to let go of him, like he really was the only thing grounding him.

"I can't do today."

"What?"

"Go back to that hell."

"Oh," Steve pressed his tongue to his cheek, finally pulling his hand away. He shimmied around, legs crossed, knees touching Bucky's. "I mean, it's not like I want to go back either. But, it won't be so bad if we do it toge...no. No, my god don't look at me like that. I am not skipping on the first day of school."

"C'mon, Stevie, it would be _fun_ ," he cooed. 

" _Fuck you_. Detention wouldn't be."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Nothing we're not used to." Then he lowered his voice, hands clapped together. "Please."

Steve's nose scrunched. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't. You're insane though, despite my prior confessions."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Steve shook his head. "Fine. But _if_ we're skipping, you're taking me to Coney Island."

"Sounds like a deal."

"And winning me one of those five foot stuffed bears."

"I'll try my best."

Steve looked him up and down. "You gotta get dressed though, Buck. And wear a hat, maybe."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, but Steve only smiled. He crawled off his bed, making his way to his closet. Pushing hangers aside, he went through about everything he owned. Moving aside a leather jacket, because he didn't want the extra attention today of people looking at him. Wanted something that would just make him blend into the crowd, something he could disappear in.

"Jesus, you're taking so long. Pick _something_."

"I'm _trying_ ," Bucky groaned. 

"What's the issue? Style crisis?"

"Something like that." He let out a long breath. "Just don't want to wear anything that'll make people," he shrugged, "look at me."

"Who cares if people look at you."

" _I_ do."

"Why?"

"Because I just don't— don't want to be looked at today."

"But, why?"

"Because, I wish I wasn't fucking here right now, and anytime someone looks at me, it makes my skin feel like it's on fire. Even when you look at me. Feel so uncomfortable right now, I…"

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You don't gotta get so worked up. Could've just told me you were anxious."

"Anxious. Yeah. That's the one."

"If it's any consolation, pretty sure people aren't looking at you to judge you."

"What?"

Steve smiled. "I'm calling you attractive."

"Oh," Bucky grabbed a tank, and mentally said fuck it, pulling his leather jacket into his arms. "Uh, thanks. You're attractive too."

Steve chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Thanks, Buck."

"Mhm." He threw the pile of clothes on his bed. 

"Doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, though. You shouldn't care what people may or may not be thinking about you."

"It's hard not to," he pulled off his shirt, tossing it aside, near his hamper but not directly in it. 

"I know. D-do you want me to leave while you change?"

Bucky shrugged. "I don't care. Not like you haven't seen me naked before."

Steve's brows raised before he looked away. "Don't remind me. The horrors."

"Shuddup. Gonna make me even more self conscious," he pulled on another shirt. Black with a faded print from some band. He kicked off his sweats, sliding into the pair of skinny jeans he almost religiously wore. 

"Since when do you care what _I_ think?"

"Since, uh, always?" He looked at him dumbfounded, tightening a belt. "The hell you mean?"

"I mean— you've known me long enough that, it seems like, whatever I say shouldn't matter at this point. 'cause you've heard everything I've had to say and I'm like an annoying buzz to you now."

"Again. What the _hell_ are you talking about? Your opinions mean the most to me." He turned around, looking for a pair of socks. "Get self conscious and all and care about what people think in that aspect. But you're the only person I ever _really_ listen to. S'why you think I just blankly stare at Clint?"

"Because he's weird and boring to begin with?"

"Mm, maybe."

"But— I don't know."

"Huh?"

Steve shrugged.

"Spit it out, Stevie."

"Why does what I have to say matter so much? To you."

"Why're you so stupid?"

Steve's brows raised. "Rude much."

"Maybe it is 'cause we grew up together. Wouldn't of kept you around that long if you didn't mean _something_ to me. Give yourself some credit."

Then Steve said under his breath, "just don't get what you see in me."

"Talk about being a downer."

"I'm not a downer."

"You're acting like one."

"I am not! I'm just… saying how I actually feel on the inside."

"Okay. Better question then. Why do you care so much about what I think? 'bout what I think about you?"

"If it's not obvious already, I can't help you."

Bucky cocked his head when the stairs started squeaking, and he could hear his mom. " _Steven, James_! Do you even realize what time it is? You have five minutes, before class starts."

Bucky's eyes darted to the bed, towards the carton of cigs near Steve's knee. The ashtray was also still out. His mom had caught him smoking before, but that was a year ago, and he promised he stopped. He didn't. He only got worse since then, and occasionally added drinking into the mix. Like they were telepaths, Steve tossed the carton towards him, Bucky eagerly catching it. He stuffed it into his hidey hole in the closet; a hole in the wall he'd possibly punched out and kept hidden with a poster. When he looked back, Steve was shoving the ashtray under a pillow. The door opened. 

"You're going to be late. Please don't get in trouble on your first day back. Oh, James, you don't even have shoes on."

"M'sorry, ma. Got caught up gosspin'."

Steve nodded. "I'm sorry too. I'm a bad distraction."

"Not a bad one," Bucky added. Steve stuck out his tongue.

"Please, boys, _enough_. You need to get going, now. Do you have your bag packed?"

"Sure do," Bucky went towards the trunk at the end of his bed. He slung an arm under a strap, pulling it against his back. When something hit the floor, rattling. An orange bottle. His mom met his eyes just as quickly.

"Backup." He said as he wasted no time crouching down, throwing them into his bag. "The 'just in case' emergency crazy pills they gave me."

"They're not crazy pills. _You're_ not crazy."

"At least someone thinks so."

Steve stood up. "You _know_ I don't think that either."

Bucky hummed.

"Boys, please," she begged, looking down at her wrist. "Class has already started at this point. I was hoping at least your first day would be detention free."

"That's expecting too much of us."

"I know."

"We'll leave in a second. Just gotta get one more thing then I'll drive us there."

"You're not driving, mister."

"Huh?"

"It's illegal, you know that. You have to have someone with a license in the passengers seat."

"But— _ma_ , it's right down the road."

"Which is exactly why you can walk there."

"...it takes almost fifteen minutes to get there. On foot."

"Then you best hurry." 

"Can't you drop us off?"

"I'm late for work myself, James."

"Wasn't our fault."

"No. It was your sisters. Her and her friend also had a late start."

Bucky shook his head. "Yeah, fine. We'll hurry. Don't see what the big deal is though."

"The deal is, if you get pulled over, you're going to have to deal with something a whole lot worse than detention."

Bucky scoffed. "Not like we haven't been harassed by cops before." Steve raised his brows at him.

" _Excuse_ me?"

"Nothing. We'll get going."

"Please do." She turned on her heel, beginning to walk down the stairs. "And, James. Remember. Doors are to be kept open at all times when Steve is over."

"Huh? The fu— _why_?"

"I've explained to you why. Many times."

"Yeah, about dating. But—"

"Door, open."

Steve took a step closer to him, his voice lowered. "Are those your…"

Bucky nodded. 

"Why don't you just flush them if you want your mom to think you're taking them?"

Bucky looked at him, and Steve sucked in his lips, frowning almost. "No. If that's why, because you're storing them, then give them to me."

"I wouldn't do _that_ , Steve."

"Then you don't need to have them if you're not taking them."

" _You_ don't need to have them. They're still my pills."

"Are you really okay? Like, seriously?"

He sighed. "No, Steve, I'm not. Okay. I'm not fucking okay. Couldn't sleep 'cause I was thinking so damn much, smoked fuckin' half a carton in one sitting. You're the only thing making me not _completely_ lose it right now."

Steve stepped in front of him, wrapping his arms around him. And Bucky reciprocated the sentiment, his nails digging into his sweater, chin resting on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Steve whispered.

"For what?" Bucky whispered back, shakey.

"What do you mean for _what_? I don't like when you feel sad."

"S'not your fault."

"I know. Just wish you didn't have to deal with this shit."

"And I wish the same thing about your asthma, Steve. Among your other million conditions."

"Hey. At least they said I don't got full functioning lupus."

"Just half functioning?"

"Mhm," Steve snorted. 

" _BOYS_ ," his mom yelled.

"Shit, okay. You got everything you need?"

Steve nodded. "You still really want to do this…?"

"Only if you do it with me." He looked at him, their foreheads resting against one another. 

"Your mom's gonna be so pissed."

"When isn't she?"

"Mine too though."

"S'okay. What's the worst they can do?"

"Ground us, maybe? Take away our phones?"

"Then I'll just sneak out and crawl through your window, s'like I always do."

Steve rolled his eyes. 

"Okay, let's go." He pulled on his wrist, leading him out of his room. He felt Steve's fingers brush against his as they walked down the stairs. 

* * *

They did walk. Listened to his mom about that at least. But walked past their school, cars packed in the parking lot, and towards the train station, which was _also_ packed. So packed it made Bucky remember why he was so excited to drive in New York traffic. There was hardly enough standing room. Steve was standing stiff, jostled by each stop. There wasn't anything for him to grab onto.

"You doing okay, bud?" 

He nodded, looking over his shoulder briefly before gesturing to Bucky. He leaned closer so Steve could whisper, "I think someone's touching my ass."

Bucky sucked in his cheeks, grabbing his shoulders so he could shimmy them around. He raised his brows. "Better?"

Steve shyly smiled. "Yeah. Thanks."

With their next stop, even more people stepping on, Steve looked even more anxious than Bucky was feeling. 

"You can hold onto me, you know."

"Hm?"

The train started moving again, and he stumbled, Bucky putting a hand on his waist. 

"You're gonna topple over someone, c'mon. Just hold my arm."

"Fine," he said, reluctantly grabbing onto his elbow. His hand stayed there, tucked under Steve's arm, on his waist.

"Only got one or two more stops anyways."

"Oh, thank _God_."

The next stop was announced, but it wasn't near Coney island. "Wait, no? We're not even halfway to the station we gotta get off at, Buck."

He shrugged. "Shortcuts."

They came to the next stop and Bucky grabbed his hand, tugging him off with him, through the sea of people. 

"Wait, where the hell are you taking me?"

"Coney island!"

"This ain't the right stop, I'm telling you!"

"Detour."

"Detour? No, Buck, _stop_." Steve firmly planted himself in place. "Tell me where we're going right now, or I swear."

"You swear what, Steve?* He said flat. "Not like you're gonna tattle on us."

"I mean, yeah. I won't."

"Right. So just relax and enjoy the ride. You'll see where we're going soon enough."

"But that's not soon enough."

"Then, start moving," he tugged him again. He felt Steve's fingers wrap around his as he let him tug him out of the station. 

"Can you give me a hint at least?"

"Mm, sure," he looked at him. "'member when that Danvers girl ran for class president?"

"Uh, sure. We're not… going to her house, are we?"

"No. God no. I just mean, remember how the principal got all pissy about her nose ring."

"Uhm, no."

"Oh. Well, okay then."

"Wait— you're getting your," he stammered, "your nose pierced!?"

"Thinking about it. What are those ones called, the lip piercings every emo kid sought after in middle school?"

"Oh yeah, Bucky, amazing idea. It'll be a miracle if they don't call our moms and say we were missing today. But, that won't blow our cover at all. If you go home and have fucking _lip piercings_."

"Okay, alright. I ain't saying that's what I want. Maybe one of those uh, not the nostril. The ones that go inside your nose."

"Septum?"

"Yeah! 'cause I know you can hide them. See, that's what Danvers did wrong. Got one of the visible ones."

Steve shook his head. "Why. Just, why."

"And I ask you, Steve, why not?"

They keep walking down the street until they turn and enter a strip mall. There's a piercing studio amongst an adult video store and a Subway.

"I don't know about this, Buck. You can really get hurt if they do it wrong. What if it gets infected? Oh god, what if your nose falls off."

"My nose ain't gonna fall off. And I looked up this place last night. Got the best reviews in the city."

Steve groaned. They made it closer and then into the store. It was a piercing only studio. There was a waiting room with gothic furniture. The walls were all painted black with a deep navy blue trim. There was a long counter in the front, full of different types of jewelry. 

A lady with bright green hair looked up at them, smiling. Her dimples were deeply indented under her piercings. Her arms were covered in ink. 

"Hi there," she nearly sung, "you guys just looking, or do you have an idea of something you want today?"

"Yeah, uh, I was wondering if you did, um," he looked back at Steve. "What's it called again?"

"Septum."

"Are you thinking about getting your septum pierced?" 

Bucky nodded. 

"And you're over sixteen?"

He nodded again. 

"Great! I'm not actually the artist you'd be working with. Our resident piercer, who's also my husband, James, just stepped out to smoke. He'll be back in, in a few minutes. If you wanna come look at some jewelry, feel free to. What were your names?"

"'m also James." 

"Steve," he timidly said. He was practically pushed into his side. 

"Emily. Pleasure to meet you both." They followed her down to a section of the display. She pulled out a velvet backed piece that housed different styles of rings. "Any color you were thinking about in particular?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "Silver? Or, I unno, what do you think would look good on me?"

Steve was leaning an elbow against the display case. Bucky could tell he was fidgety and nervous. His hand was pressed under his chin. "Blue? Would match your eyes."

"Actually," Emily said, turning around and grabbing something from a shelf. "We do have some anodized pieces in this blue here." She showed them another display piece, picking up a ring. It was a sky blue color.

Steve chuckled and Bucky looked at him. "What?"

"It does match your eyes."

"It does," she chimed in. 

"Guess I'm interested in blue then."

"Is this your first piercing?"

Bucky nodded. "Wanted to stretch my ears a few years ago, but… mom wasn't too happy about the idea."

"Not like she'd be any happier about _this_ one."

"There comes my second question. Sounds like you're gonna need to hide it?" 

"At least for now."

* * *

(Notes for unfinished parts)

\- They go to Coney island afterwards, like Steve requested. This was their safe space, a place they always went when either one of them was feeling down, or just needed to get away from their parents. 

\- They do all of their usual things; ride the Cyclone, because Steve had ridden it enough times at this point to build up a tolerance so he wouldn't puke anymore. They walked around and looked at all the tourist trap booths, got some messy hotdogs, took photos together on Bucky's old phone (and they all turned out grainy).   
  
\- The whole time Steve can't stop looking at Bucky. And he thinks it's because of the new piercing, which he keeps forgetting about until he goes to scratch his face and feels an intense pain. But, it isn't. 

\- Bucky tries his hand at winning Steve a stuffed bear. He's only half successful, and wins him a much smaller prize (a keychain or something dumb). But Steve accepts it anyways.   
  
\- They've been out almost the whole day. It's past five now. It's nice out though, and they enjoy the sunset together, sitting on a bench, enjoying the last few days before the cold of fall sets in.  
  
\- Steve tells him he really enjoyed today, and Bucky makes a big deal about it, a whole 'I told you so, I knew it'd be fun' thing. Steve is still on edge about having missed school, same way Bucky feels about going back tomorrow. But, he tries to not think about it. 

\- He finally checks his phone for the first time since the morning, and Bucky has a whole wall of texts from Clint. About where they are, what's going on, if he's okay. Steve has a handful himself, pretty much the same questions copy pasted to Steve. 

\- Bucky decides they should get heading back. Only because he knows if he stays out any longer, his mom is probably going to call the cops on them and report him missing. 

\- When they finally do get back home, Bucky walks with Steve back to his (Bucky's) house. Steve lives further down the street, and Bucky's house is the first stop. When they get there, they see Bucky's mom waiting on the porch. They look at each other, gulping. 

\- Steve tells Bucky that his septum isn't flipped up and he carefully scrambles to push the ring up, bringing tears to his eyes. He hears his mom yelling his full name (which he knew meant he was really in trouble), and Steve looks reluctant to leave, but knows he has to. 

\- He quickly hugs him and says he'll text him later. Bucky holds onto him and doesn't want to let go of him, because he doesn't want him to leave, but because he just isn't interested in being lectured right now. But Steve slithers out of his grasp and makes his way down the street.

\- His mom pulls him inside and tells him to sit down. She got a call from the school that he was absent, and asking if he was alright. She was supposed to still be at work, but she was so peeved that she left early.   
  
\- And then she mentions that okay, maybe Bucky wasn't feeling the best, hooky isn't the worst thing he can do. She knew he'd be safe with Steve anyways. But, she called up his therapist to see if he made it to his session at least, and he told her he hasn't seen James in months. She's livid at this point and mentions the pills. She asks if he's even been taking them.

\- Cue a big argument and Rebecca comically walking through the door the second he starts screaming back at his mom. Bucky says he's annoyed of being treated like a kid (which she says he is still a kid), that it should be his choice whether he does therapy or not (and she says it is, but he said he wanted to try it again, and now he's been lying that he's still going). 

\- Bucky gets pissed off and storms to his room, slamming the door shut. He goes to pull out his carton when he realizes the poster is removed. So he's out of smokes, his mom knows he's been lying about a lot of things, and he's so fucking stressed out.

\- He lays down on his bed, gets under the covers, and then calls Steve. Because he's the only person who can calm him down. He can hear Steve locking the front door, hear the floorboards creaking as he walks to his room. His mom isn't home yet, so he's scott free. For now.

\- Bucky can feel his eyes tearing up, but he wills himself to ignore it. And he focuses on Steve instead, trying to bring up the stories they always shared, the adventures they'd been on. Trying to make himself feel better. He rolled his eyes. 

\- He'd already dug a big enough grave for himself, why not just rebel more. So he climbed out his window, carefully shimmed down from the roof onto the patio and made his way to Steve's. He didn't hang up until he was knocking, and Steve unlocked the door. 

\- He had a goofy grin. "Can't stay away?" 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was part of a 15 part series. All the notes for the storyline are written out, but I thought it was too messy looking to post. 
> 
> Written in 2019.


	4. Stucky #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's always been a huge nerd; obsessed with sci-fi movies, secretly watching anime after Steve went to bed, still hoarding a binder of Pokemon cards. That's something Steve loved about him, because he genuinely cared about this stuff and didn't hide it.
> 
> So when Bucky's birthday was right around the corner, and Bucky's favorite actor of all time was going to be at a local convention, Steve knew what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern day AU; no powers, no Avengers. They've been dating for 10+ years but have had a rocky past (many breakups, cheating). 
> 
> TW: mentions of disordered eating behavior, implied past self harm, implied drug abuse (for external character). 
> 
> Other characters: Sam, TJ (Political Animals)

** That one with the convention **

* * *

The soft drone of Jim Morrison’s voice floated within the parlor walls; Bucky was miles away from the murmur of the crowd but seated only inches away from the crackling jukebox he had just dropped a nickel into. Through the windows, the sun was casting its last few rays of light, making him squint at the polished glass cake displays lining the bar he was waiting at with a melting root beer float in front of him. He tapped the cracked screen of his phone again, lighting it up to reveal the same texts from twenty minutes ago, eyes darting between the two for the eighth time.

 **Stevie** \- 06:44 PM  
Hey sweetheart. Got held up in the studio, deadline’s been changed for this again and now it’s due tomorrow... Sorry I’m gonna be a little late.

 **Me** \- 06:45 PM  
I’ll be waiting little man :(

The screen falling dim, Bucky rested his face in his palm and swirled the spoon around in its tall glass. Rebecca and their mom couldn’t make the trip for his birthday this year— their money situation was tight and Bucky was understanding, knowing that feeling all too well, but he sulked the day away anyways. With his fiancé spending all day at work, like always, Bucky was left to celebrate by himself. The jelly-filled waffles he made for breakfast, at least, were exceptional.

Having exhausted all of Steve’s good DVDs (there weren’t many), Bucky had arrived at their date half an hour earlier than planned. Out of nickels, he glanced at the back of a waiter’s head before sliding a ceramic dish of mini coffee creamer cups towards himself, dumping the containers over the marble countertop. 

Smoothing back his hair, he pinched a cup between a thumb and index finger. He swallowed down a deep breath to calm his shot nerves, his hand jittery and unsteady with excitement over finally nearing the highlight of a particularly boring birthday; the day always made Bucky feel a bit antsy, but with Steve stuck working day in and day out at the studio, he almost felt a bit on edge to finally sit down and have a proper conversation with him.

He really _was_ happy for Steve, couldn’t put into words how incredibly proud he was of him for finishing school and taking on as many shows and small jobs as he could juggle. But since starting his apprenticeship with an organization for local artists a couple of months ago, he’d almost forgot they lived together, only seeing Steve over a cup of coffee in the morning and before falling asleep at night.

Biting his nail, he single handedly stacked the cups into two neat pyramids, trying to suppress the grin he felt growing as he looked over his work. Dragging his phone back over, he flicked open the camera app, capturing the creamer pyramids in an awkward angle. He opened his conversation with Steve, attaching the photo as he quickly typed out a message, clicking send.

 **Me** \- 07:03 PM  
Proud of me? I can make art too

 **Stevie** \- 07:05 PM  
Aw shit, you’re already there?

Bucky watched from the corner of his eye the jukebox adjusting its record back into place, the song coming to an end with a click.

 **Me** \- 07:06 PM  
Nothin else to do

 **Stevie** \- 07:09 PM  
I’m trying to leave now. I’ll be there soon, ok? :-( 

**Stevie** \- 07:10 PM  
It’s beautiful Buck. You should be the one doing this job, not me

“You doing alright?” a waiter was staring down at him, several used mugs intertwined in his hands. “Think so,” Bucky looked up, still snickering faintly under his breath. “Wait, can I— can I getta plate of onion rings?” The man nodded with a sigh before disappearing through the kitchen doors.

Several minutes later, the same man ambled back towards Bucky, plate clacking against the counter’s surface as he set it down. With a muffled ‘thanks’, he was already picking at the greasy snack, burning his tongue as he bit into one with a loud crunch. He kept himself occupied, swirling broken pieces around in a dish of ketchup until he heard that familiar ding of the door that got his head craning. Steve was rushing towards Bucky’s seat at the far end of the bar, unwrapping that old colorful knitted scarf from his neck while simultaneously pulling a grey beanie free from his messy hair.

Steve stumbled over his own feet as he took the seat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, greeting him with a tired smile. He pressed his cold lips to his cheek, saying against his skin, “Sorry I’m so late, Bucky. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, buddy,” he was now folding a loose onion into a ball, dipping it into ranch. “You hungry?”

He plucked the last onion ring from the plate, twirling it in his fingers. “A bit. Haven’t really had anything yet today… You already eat, I’m guessing?”

“Sorta...whaddya want? Cherry Coke and pancakes?” Bucky smiled knowingly.

“Pancakes, for dinner?” Steve folded his arms across the bar, a brow raising curiously.

Bucky leaned on one elbow, sipping his mushy root beer float. “Am I wrong?”

Steve looked away in a huff of laughter, shaking his head. “No, you’re not. That’s exactly what I was gonna order.”

Clapping his free hand on Steve’s small knee, Bucky beckoned the waiter, putting in Steve’s order for him. “I’ve missed you, y’know,” he said almost matter-of-factly. “Never see you much any more.”

“I’ve missed you too, Buck,” Steve played with the hat resting on his lap, stroking across its side seams before sighing. “I know, I’m sorry. Everything’s just been so busy between commissions and all the gallery pieces,” he was gesturing with his free hand, looking at Bucky with a smile that came across shy, “What do you think about going on a trip soon? Just you and me, like the good ol’ days.”

“And I’m seriously proud of you,” he gave his knee a squeeze, narrowing his brows. “Where? Y’sure you got the time for that?”

“What if I told you I already got the time off?” Steve leaned into Bucky, resting his cheek against his shoulder. With a snort, he added, “Thanks, Buck. I’m real proud of you too, you know? Say, how many ‘Happy Birthdays’ have you sung this week at that macaroni place? You have the voice of an angel.”

“Too many,” he moved his hand to ruffle his blond hair, leaning his own head on Steve’s. “What’ve you planned this time, Rogers?” he teased, though his mood was lifting in anticipation. Bucky glanced upwards at the clink of a plate of fluffy pancakes being set down, the waiter nearly letting a smile curl at his lips before giving Bucky a brief wink as he also dropped off the bubbling glass of soda before walking away; he quickly lifted his head from his fiancé’s. 

“You know that Nostromo jacket you have hanging in our closet that just,” he glanced at him, sucking in his lips, “collects dust?”

Bucky pushed the plate of pancakes towards Steve, side-eyeing him. “It’s a collectible.” 

“Still. You should wear it more, don’t you think?” Steve lifted a forkful of whip cream to his mouth, scrunching his nose at Bucky. “You worked so hard to get it, remember, Jersey boy?” 

He rolled his eyes. “What’s your point?”

Steve reached into his coat’s front pocket, flicking on his phone. Bucky watched as he opened Chrome and scrolled through a long list of bookmarks, tapping on something with ‘New Jersey’ in the name. A page slowly loaded into view, a comic-book themed banner with ‘Comics, Sci-Fi, Horror & More!’ written in large text catching his attention. “You’ve still never been to one of these things, right? You’d always talk about New York comic con in high school. That’s the big one here, isn’t it?”

“You — “ he released the straw of Steve’s cherry Coke from his mouth, “You didn’t, did you?” Bucky took the phone out of his hands and started scrolling down the page plastered with cheesy space- and horror-themed graphics, barely taking any of it in. 

“Well, I mean, it’s not New York comic con, but,” he shrugged, resting his chin in both his palms. “You’re not booked for the weekend of the seventeenth in May yet, are you?” 

“Not anymore,” he tore away from the screen, his grin slowly widening as he stared at Steve silently. “Hey...you’d make a great Ripley.”

“Buck,” Steve ducked his head, groaning with a puff of air. “I don’t wanna dress as a girl again, c’mon. Twice was enough for me. Besides, you’re the Alien nerd here, not me. Only ever seen the first one anyways.”

“First one’s the only one that matters,” he was cutting a chunk of pancake with the side of the fork. “Do I have to eat this for you? Hey,” he stuffed the mass of doughy cake into his mouth, “h’bout Wook Sywalkuh?”

Steve lighty ran the tip of a knife against the edge of the pancakes, staring at them briefly before setting the utensil down, biting his lip as he looked at Bucky. “Do I have to dress up at all?” He took another sip of his drink. “But, hypothetically speaking, and only hypothetically, think I’d rather wear Anakin. Would suit me better,” he added with a half smirk.

“Seriously?” he gulped, sticking the fork in the middle of the stack upright as if he had just landed on the moon. “No offense, buddy, but Anakin’s actually cool,” he playfully pinched Steve’s cheek, who batted his hand away.

“You saying I’m not?” Steve’s voice cracked as he attempted his best puppy dog eyes, pulling at the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m taking you to a comic convention, Bucky. I’m the coolest there is!”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “You’re the best, Steve. You’d make a great Anakin,” he looked at his empty float before staring back at Steve, who was teetering the fork back and forth with a finger. “So are we staying in Jersey? How long’s this thing? Y’didn’t spend too much, did you?”

“Okay okay, slow down, sweetheart. One question at a time,” Steve was laughing, his eyes crinkling as he rested a hand on Bucky’s thigh. He shifted his sitting position, nearly sliding off the creaking barstool as he kissed Bucky for a long, drawn out second. “Yeah, we’re staying in Jersey at a hotel about twenty minutes from the convention center — was the cheapest option, other than trying to cram into a room with ten other people. We’ll get there Thursday and come back that Sunday. And, don’t worry about how much it is. It’s your birthday gift, just enjoy it.”

He nodded along, still smiling. “Yeah, okay, I’m followin’ your lead. One more thing, though...”

“What’s up?” Steve flipped on his phone for a second time, trailing down the lengthy list of comic artists and special guests, passing a headshot of Tom Skerritt from the late 70’s.

“Remember our — wait, go back up,” he slapped Steve on the shoulder and leaned in closer, hovering over the phone, “Oh my God, Steve, can we…?” He looked up at him, clear grey eyes wide.

“Can we meet him?” Steve replied flat, finishing his question. “Oh I don’t know, Buck. Looks like it’s all sold out,” he tapped on the screen with a nail, his obviously forced frown contorting as the corners of his lips quivered, tugging upright.

Bucky gave a real frown, shoulders dropping. “Oh, okay,” he muttered, but still raising his brows again. “Remember when we were Ghostbusters? Well, I was. You were the Michelin man.”

“Yes,” Steve closed his eyes, nodding, “yes, I remember that a little too well. Why are you bringing that up? Thought we promised to never talk about it again…”

“I never promised,” he slapped a hand on the counter, “C’mon, Steve. Let’s do it again. ‘Cept this time, you can be a Ghostbuster with me,” he was smiling again. “Y’can be my Spengler.”

Steve pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, but his smile had managed to also escape fully. “You want to make costumes, Ghostbuster costumes—” he raised his fingers, “two Ghostbuster costumes, by May?”

“With proton packs and everything!” Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand with both of his. “You know about this stuff, don’t you?” he brought his hand up to his own mouth and kissed over his ring lightly. “Steven Grant Rogers, will you be my nerdy other half?”

Steve’s eyes rolled, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled heavily. “I’m already marrying you, isn’t that enough?”

“No, not really,” he pouted sarcastically. “Hey, we could go shopping for everything after you finish those pancakes.” 

“You’re serious, huh? Fine,” he sighed, his voice mockingly going weepy as he pretended to wipe away tears, “Yes, James Buchanan Barnes, I’ll be your nerdy other half. Thought you’d never ask!” His eyes slowly traveled back towards the mostly untouched plate, snapping back to Bucky as he shook his head. “It’s fine, I’m full.”

He watched Steve’s eyes for a moment, his pout still lingering. “Yeah, they gave you a lot,” he reasoned, looking from the plate back to Steve. “Y’ready, then?”

“Yeah, they did. Uh, one sec,” Steve tossed the dripping straw onto the plate, downing the rest of his Coke in two large gulps, Bucky watching as his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He set the cup down with a satisfied noise, nodding. “Okay, ready.”

* * *

  
“Darlin’, the rump roast is ready,” Bucky’s voice reverberated from a large oven he had stuck his head in, Steve trailing behind with his phone in front of him, analyzing a group shot of the classic Ghostbusters crew on it. Slamming its door shut, he leaned over the sink basin to jostle the handle up and down.

“Did you seriously expect it to work?” Steve peered from behind his phone, thumb swiping through the images. Turning away without a word, Bucky continued to open cabinet doors and turn the Lazy Susans inside of them with Steve following closely. “Did you just wanna play house or are we actually going to get things started for these costumes you were so adamant about five seconds ago?”

Letting one of the faux-wood doors fall with a clatter, he wrapped his arms around Steve and rested his chin on top of his head, much to Steve’s annoyance. “Thought you liked that,” he pouted. “Howzit go? Baby, I wanna play house with you…” he sang in a mockingly deep voice out of the side of his mouth, swaying Steve back and forth, whose arms were still crushed between their bodies.

“James,” Steve mumbled into his chest, his already soft chuckles becoming even more muted, “I love you, so much, but sometimes…” his words trailed off as his tensed body grew limp, finally giving in after attempting to wiggle out of his hold.

He finally released Steve after nearly a minute, only to grab his free hand, pulling them out of the kitchen display. “So, where’re we going? What’s first?” Bucky looked expectantly over his shoulder, still dragging Steve aimlessly through the high-ceilinged hardware store.

“Well, it depends,” Steve answered, briefly glancing at Bucky as he tapped away at his phone, keyboard faintly clicking as he typed out a shopping list. “You just want to make the proton packs, or are you thinking of the ghost trap too? And, Buck, what are we doing about the jumpsuits? I’m not sewing those. Mom taught me how to darn and hem, but that’s the extent of my sewing knowledge... “ he had a devilish smirk dancing across his lips, “unless you have some of your own tricks hiding up those sleeves of yours.”

“Nah, wish I did.” Bucky instinctively shook the sleeve of his left arm so it fell loosely halfway down his hand. “We gotta have the ghost box,” he continued, squinting at the aisle numbers in the distance. “Figured we’ll order some jumpsuits online, and…” he looked back at Steve again, smirking. “You’ve already got glasses, practically the same pair as his.”

“Guess that’ll save us the stress of making them from scratch. Wait, come here,” Steve stretched out his arm, waving his phone towards Bucky, who steadied it with his own hand. 

“Oh, so that’s — “ he looked back and forth, trying to match the unfamiliar words on Steve’s shopping list with the categories underneath the aisle numbers above him “ — that sounds right.” Bucky tugged him along, scanning the tall shelves in the distance distractedly until they found themselves surrounded by significantly less-fluorescent lighting.

Steve flicked a plastic crystal hanging from a lampshade, giving Bucky’s hand a small squeeze. “I know we said we were gonna have lights in our stuff, but,” Steve scratched the back of his head, “don’t really think these are the right kinds of lights, Bucky.”

He blinked, his mouth in a thin line. “How about you just lead the way, captain.”

“I don’t know where shit is either,” Steve snatched his phone out of his fingers, tapping the screen. “I mean, first thing we really gotta do is make a vacuform so we can cast the proton packs — gonna have to do it in two parts and sculpt a base first, thankfully got a few pounds of modeling clay left over at the studio…” Bucky’s expression had gone blank. “Wood. We need wood and PVC pipe and plastic, okay?” 

“Oh, okay,” he said softly, not letting his mouth turn into a frown as Steve led them this time, away from the assorted floor lamps and chandeliers and down a hall with a seemingly endless supply of wooden boards and planks.

“We need, uh,” he bit his bottom lip, nose scrunching as his forehead creased. He hummed to himself, pivoting on his heel as he turned around, yanking Bucky the other way. “Half a sheet of plywood and a ‘MDF panel’, whatever the hell that is. Actually,” Steve pocketed his phone, looking behind Bucky, “can you go get a cart while I get this cut?”

“‘Course, sweetheart.” Bucky let go of Steve and shoved his hands in his pockets to make the trip all the way back to the entrance, eyeing the displays along the way for anything familiar that might cheer Steve up. After freeing a vividly orange cart from the rest, he noticed the brightly colored walls of paint swatches nearby and rounded towards them, one rogue wheel wobbling all along the way.

A handful of blue and blue-green swatches later, Bucky had plucked two winners from the stack and discarded the rest on a nearby shelf just as Steve was coming down the aisle; he wore an exasperated expression on his face, knuckles gone white from clenching a lengthy piece of plywood.

“Seriously?” Steve grit his teeth as he hauled the cut sheet into the cart, grunting as he hunched over, hands grasping his knees. “One thing I asked you to do. That’s all. The most simple task there is, and you couldn’t do it. Didn’t even get the damn ‘MDF’ panel or whatever yet,” he kicked the cart, hissing under his breath as he leaned to rub the front of his shoe. “Well, you did do it, but you were too busy… I don’t know. The hell are you doing?”

“You okay, Stevie?” Bucky bent down, waving the two small single-colored cards in front of his face. “This’ll make you feel better, promise,” he said, pulling Steve up by the elbow after he took the swatches, staring at them with a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“Why would this make me feel better? Am I missing something here?”

Both stood in silence for a moment before Bucky cleared his throat. “It’s, uh — it’s us! See?” he grabbed the greener card again and held it up beside his own face, Steve still looking completely baffled. 

His eyes narrowed as he mouthed the words to himself first, reading the minuscule writing off the swatch. “Baby spinach. Ah, I get it,” Steve snapped his fingers, “You’re pregnant! That makes me feel _so_ much worse!”

It was Bucky’s turn to look confused; “Baby—“ he glanced at the card, “ —Baby spinach, no, Steve, _look_.” Plucking the other one from Steve’s hand, Bucky rifled his phone out of his jacket pocket and held all three things next to each other: the bright blue of the paint card vividly brought out the same color of Steve’s eyes through the cracked lock screen, as did the greyer green card with Bucky’s own.

“Fish pond,” Steve flicked the blue card as he sucked in his cheeks, a hearty chuckle escaping from his curved lips. “Well, I do like fish, you’re right on that. Actually, think my favorite fish has to be,” he stroked his chin, “the materpiscis from the late Devonian period. ”

Stuffing the paint swatches in his wallet, Bucky leaned over the shopping cart. “Why d’you know that, Steve?” he said incredulously, mouth agape. “What even is...y’know what,” he started to push the cart down the aisle with Steve following behind, his smile gone tired. “I don’t care. Whaddya need now, fish pond?”

“Uh,” Steve glanced at his phone once more before pointing to the right, “That way. Do we have a drill at home or is that something we’re gonna have to pick up? Might have one at the studio, but I don’t know.”

Bucky made a sharp turn, wheels scraping along the gritty floor. “Nah, s’why all of your paintings are in the closet instead of on the walls. Never got around to it.”

“That’s why, huh?” Steve snickered, hooking his elbow with Bucky’s, walking closely alongside him. “Thought you just didn’t like them.”

“I love them, Stevie,” he glared out of the corner of his eye. “Usually.”

“Usually? The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sometimes you just pour shit all over the canvas, I don’t get it.”

“Sorry Buck, but I can’t only make paintings of you,” Steve lead them down an aisle full of assorted hardware, pulling Bucky towards an open display along the wall of various drills. Each tool was more expensive than the last and with ten more added features, none of which either of them understood. “I’m not the one that decides what we’re working on though, that’s the head director. So next time you see her, tell her you don’t like ‘that shit poured all over the canvas’, just see what she says,” he grinned at him, leaning to peck his cheek. 

Bucky stood a little straighter just out of Steve’s reach, chuckling as he struggled to hold his kiss, lips puckered. “What kinda guy do you think I am?”

“I know, you don’t get in trouble anymore. That’s great, honey,” Steve gave his cheek a light pat instead, before flicking it with force, “Still a total jackass though.”

“Thought you liked bad boys,” he attempted to mockingly pout but a smile took over instead, playfully shoving Steve who nearly lost his balance if it weren’t for his hold on Bucky.

Steve huffed under his breath, blowing around lose strands of his bangs. “No, you’re right. Bad boys really get me going. C’mon,” he wrapped his hand loosely around Bucky’s forearm, wetting his lips, “shove me again, I’ll show you.”

Bucky picked a drill on whim, tossing the cheapest-looking box into the cart and elbowed Steve in the shoulder with a wink. “You’re not gonna try and punch me again, are you?”

“You want me to? ‘Cause I will, Barnes,” Steve balled his fist, teasingly tapping his knuckles against the dip of Bucky’s chin. “Get ready for it.” 

“We’ve been over this, little man — “

Steve cupped his jaw, forcing him to bend down as he pulled him closer, breath ghosting across his skin as he kissed him soft, a chuckle escaping. “I told you to get ready, Buck.”

His face grew warm and Bucky scanned either end of the aisle before resting on Steve’s eyes again, slightly embarrassed. “What else d’we need, Rogers?”

Steve had a smirk plastered on his face as craned his neck, pivoting on his heel. “Can I trust you to be in charge of the LED wiring and all? You took an electrical class in sophomore year, didn’t you?” 

“I can handle it,” he shot a smug expression right back at Steve, silently thanking the ability to Google anything with the cracked phone sitting in his back pocket while he continued pushing the cart with only a vague sense of where they were going next.

“I knew you could,” Steve put his hand on the cart, causing Bucky to abruptly stop. “Hold on, Buck. We gotta get a few of these,” he was plucking bag after bag of, Bucky really didn’t know, off their hooks, tossing them beside the drill box. “I think the plastic’s down this way. Still need that panel too... “ Steve looked at Bucky, resting his elbows against the edge of the cart, head in his palms. “Bucky.” 

“Steve?” He replied instinctively, eyebrows raised.

“Hi Bucky,” his cheek raised as he smiled lopsided.

A little annoyed, Bucky lightly rolled the cart along, carrying Steve with it as he tried to keep his elbows on the edge and his feet shuffling backwards. “Hi, Stevie,” he sighed.

He snorted into his hand as he bit his lip. “Hi, Buck.”

“Out with it.” Bucky quickened his pace to where Steve had to grip the end of the cart instead.

“I love you,” he crinkled his nose, releasing a hand steadying himself to snap his fingers. “Oh, yeah! You having a good birthday? Didn’t think you’d be spending it at Home Depot, huh?”

“I love you too, idiot,” he laughed. “It’s not so bad now, y’know. Can’t wait to see you all dressed up.”

“Yeah, that’ll be… something,” Steve scoffed as he rolled his eyes, taking a step away from the cart. He walked over to a stack of white plastic sheets high up on a shelf, gesturing towards them. “Bucky, can you uh, help. Please.”

Bucky cocked his head to where he was pointing, a wide grin spread across his face as he ambled up next to Steve. He pulled the sheets from their place and held the stack above Steve’s head. “Anything for you, big guy,” he lowered them into Steve’s outstretched arms.

“Thanks sweetheart,” Steve pinched his cheek, leaning them against the plywood. “Oh, and, one more thing! I got one last surprise for you.”

“Please no waffles, Steve,” he gripped the handle again.

“No, no. Of course not. It’s a lot better than that,” Steve waved his hand, shaking his head. “Remember earlier, when we were looking at the guests and you saw Tom Skerritt’s name, and you got all excited like the little fanboy you are?” 

“I’m not — “ he smoothed his hair; his curiosity betrayed him. “What about it?”

Steve pulled out his phone, flicking up after thumbing in his passcode. He shifted the screen so the leather case was facing Bucky, sliding his fingers up and down before handing him it with a thin smile. “Couldn’t keep it a secret any longer, especially after seeing how sad you got earlier.”

He took the phone into his own hands, still slowly maneuvering the cart in front of him while he scanned the e-mail. Ticket Confirmation: Tom Skerritt Meet and Greet / Photo Op lined the top from where Bucky started to scroll down, his mouth falling open in disbelief. “Y’can’t be serious,” he stared at Steve. “You’re not, right?”

“One hundred percent, buddy,” Steve shifted behind Bucky, finagling around two thicker PVC pipes, clunking them together as he hauled them into the cart. He leaned against the handle with an elbow, fingers dancing through Bucky’s brunet locks. “So, time to start growing out your hair again. Always thought you looked good with a beard.”

“Holy shit, Steve.” Bucky pulled him into a tight hug, barely able to put words together. “How did — y’said it was sold out? Did you lie, Rogers?” 

Steve shrugged in his arms, pressing his head to his chest with a muffled laugh. “I ‘unno, maybe I did. Think I’ve just spent too much time around you,” he poked his side.

He nearly suffocated him before letting go; “You’re the best, I can’t believe — “ Bucky impulsively ran his fingers through his hair again, a big, stupid smile on his face “ — We gotta get started already!”

* * *

“Feels good to finally be home,” Steve sighed under breath, holding the front door of their one bedroom apartment open for Bucky, his arms full of wood and plastic sheets. Steve had a plethora of plastic bags strung along his lanky arms, cutting off his circulation through his coat. With a half serious tone, he chuckled. “Hardly even remember what this place looks like anymore.”

“Feels good to finally have you home, Steve.” Bucky set down the heavy supplies lengthwise across their sofa, jostling cushions as the edge of the plywood rubbed against them, catching the fabric. Their floor soon joined the clutter as cans of spray paint and light packets and tools were strewn about. He reached around for their table side lamp, flicking the switch on, the room now having some light albeit still dim.

With a light kick and a heavy creak, Steve locked their door, tossing the keys into the ceramic dish in the bathroom. Bucky hopped on one foot as he yanked off his loafers, tossing them beside their couch with a grunt. He spun around on socked feet, nearly tripping over himself in excitement. Clapping his hands together, he watched as Steve shook the bags free from his arms, his eyes meeting Bucky’s. “What’s first?”

Steve glanced at the couch, exhaling through his nostrils. With a hand placed to his side, he rubbed over his ribs with his thumb, teeth grit. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Nah. It’s only ten,” he started rooting around inside the bags, taking out various smaller bags and cans one by one, though none of them particularly exciting or recognizable to him. “M’hungry though,” Bucky was now staring at Steve through a long white pipe. “Whaddya want? We haven’t eaten together in a while.”

“We ate together earlier, Buck,” Steve replied short, his hand covering the end of the tube, Bucky seeing nothing but darkness.

Moving it to his mouth instead, Bucky yelled through it this time: “Ya gotta eat, Steve!” He smiled at his own humor; “A forkful of whipped cream ain’t dinner.”

“God, stop,” Steve clutched the left side of his chest as he shook with laughter, shoving the tube down and away from his ears. “I’m not hungry. And, you’re the one to speak. A bag of marshmallows ain’t dinner either, you know.”

Jumping up from the couch, Bucky swung the pipe over his shoulder and gave Steve a concerned look on his way to the kitchen. “Lying’s a nasty habit, buddy,” he yelled from the fridge.

“I’m not fucking lying,” he could hear Steve audibly huff, dropping something to the floor with a heavy crash. “Aw, shit.”

Bucky let the door fall shut before peering back through the kitchen doorway. “What’s up with you?” he asked, afraid of just how different Steve had been all day.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Steve peered at him from the floor; he was on his knees, a dripping napkin in his hand and a broken bottle of Mod Podge laying beside him, a trail of the glue-like liquid sprawled across their rug. His eyes were narrowed at Bucky, his usually bright blues darkened almost unrecognizably so, brows tightly knit and lips in a thin line.

“It means,” Bucky grabbed the loose roll of paper towels off the counter before approaching Steve again, throwing them harshly at his chest. “Y’ve had this little mood all day, bud. Keep snapping at me over dumb shit, and,” he pointed towards him with the pipe. “All I see you eat or drink anymore is coffee and Cherry Coke. So, talk to me.”

Steve ripped a piece off from the roll, hand cupping over his forehead as his eyes squeezed close. “First of all, I don’t have a ‘little mood’, James,” he licked his lips, slapping his knee as his head snapped back up to Bucky. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to get at here. You think I don’t eat or something?”

Dropping the tube with a clatter, Bucky joined Steve on the floor to silently rip a handful of jagged-edged towels from the roll, fruitlessly rubbing the glue further into the rug. “Do you?” He muttered, staring blankly at Steve’s gaunt face.

His chin was quivering and Bucky could see the violent tremble in his hands as he quickly scratched the side of his head. His eyes, reddened and glossed over, started to flutter, his attention directed elsewhere. “‘Course I…” His words trailed off, peering back at Bucky with a sniffle, his breaths hitched and cut short. He continued, hardly above a whisper, “of course I eat.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand, interlocking their fingers together. “Are you stupid?” 

“What?” Steve’s voice cracked, almost a squeak. He squeezed his hand, shifting closer to Bucky, pushing his temple against his shoulder.

He hung his head with a sad, quiet laugh. “What makes you think you can’t tell me anything?” 

“It’s not that, I know I can— I’m just fucking terrified to talk about this, Bucky.”

“Sure, okay, remember how much shit we could’ve avoided if I just talked about it?”

“Yeah,” Steve took in a deep breath, blowing against Bucky’s neck slowly before he spoke with a smack of his lips. He was fiddling with Bucky’s fingers, like he always did when he was nervous, playing with his ring. “No, I don’t. I don’t eat.”

“Why the hell not?” He gazed at Steve with narrowed brows, craning his neck a little lower to meet his eyes.

Steve was looking at Bucky again, brushing his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I can't.”

“Why?” Bucky repeated himself, swatting Steve’s hand away and grabbing it into his own.

Steve shook his head, bangs falling over his eyes. He’d gone meek, “Helps me deal with the shit I don’t want to. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it’s what I cling to now,” he tugged on the cuff of Bucky’s long sleeved thermal. “hold me.”

“You’re right,” he threw an arm around Steve, pulling him close with his fingers running through short, blond hair. “It doesn’t make sense,” Bucky said with a sharp exhale.

Steve curled into him, nose pressed to the crook of his neck. “You know when we stopped talking? Can’t believe it’s almost been four years now.”

Bucky rested his cheek on Steve’s head, remembering that it was nearly all his fault. “Uh-huh,” he grunted.

“I… I missed you, Bucky. A lot. To the point that I couldn’t figure out how to function, without you,” Bucky found Steve continuing to play with his fingers, his other hand mindlessly stroking down his jeans. “And it scared me, ‘cause I realized I don’t know how to do anything without you. You’ve always been there, seriously, every memory I have from being a kid ‘til now— they’ve always got you in it. So to cope, I just,” he was choking over his words, nearing the point of sobbing, “had to make a new best friend.”

“There’re a million other ways you could’ve held off, buddy,” his voice broke off as he scratched his own arm through its sleeve. 

Steve pushed Bucky’s hand away, letting out a deep, pained sigh. “It’s the only thing I could do to not… feel. It’s like, when your body is too focused on the fact that it’s starving, it just shuts everything else off so you don’t really have a chance to think twice about it,” he sniffled, brushing against Bucky’s bicep, “I just wanted to forget everything, okay. I didn’t want to remember what love was like, or how it felt to be happy. Just wanted to simply numb out, ‘cause it was a hell of a lot easier that way. Now I don’t gotta do that anymore, but, I can’t stop.”

He rubbed Steve’s wet lashes with his thumb, one eye after the other despite Steve scrunching up his face each time. “Y’don’t deserve that, Stevie. Torturing yourself doesn’t make shit better — makes it a helluva lot worse, actually,” he gave a half-hearted laugh before pushing himself off the floor, pulling Steve by the hand with him. “C’mere,” Bucky beckoned, dragging him to the kitchen. 

“No, Buck, please,” Bucky could feel Steve resisting against him, planting his feet firmly against the floor. Rolling his eyes, he rounded behind Steve, gripping his hands around his thinning waist to gently push him towards the kitchen, ignoring Steve’s whiney pleading. 

“James, please, I can’t,” there was fear in his voice.

He settled his chin on Steve’s shoulder the rest of the way. “Y’can, though,” Bucky whispered before he let go and started filling an abandoned pot off the stove with water; Steve hopped onto his usual seat atop a counter, steadying himself.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Steve intently watching him, his legs swinging back and forth. “What is that? What are you making?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky said, tipping a blue box off the top shelf of a nearby cabinet.

“Yes it does,” Steve protested, crossing his arms against his chest. With a small puff of air, he leaned forward; Bucky swore he could hear him trying not to laugh through his words. “...What shapes are those?”

Bucky waved him away, blocking his view with his broad shoulders while he shredded the top of the box open. “Still doesn’t matter,” he said before checking the front of the packaging again. “Disney princesses,” Bucky muttered, pulling out the packet of powdered ‘cheese.’

“Disney princesses, huh,” Steve snorted, touching Bucky’s lower back with a foot. “Reminds me of uh, what’s that one song? Sha la la la la la, my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy. Ain’t gonna kiss the girl.” He then added, “Well, ‘cept I ain’t a girl, but you get the point.”

“You callin’ me shy?” Bucky had jumped onto the counter opposite of Steve, slightly hunched in comparison. “Remember when you came over for Christmas, and my family thought you were jus’ the cutest little thing?”

“Which time?” Steve rested an elbow on his knee, fist pressed to his cheek, momentarily glancing at the stove. 

“The one you spent hiding in the broom closet for three hours,” he saw Steve’s expression change in embarrassment, making him smile. “Sat outside the door the whole time, tryna talk you outta there.”

Steve bit his lip, forcing out a nervous chuckle as he scratched the back of his neck, “They were all coming at me at the same time, Buck! You know how Bertha is with the cheek pinching. It was a perfectly reasonable reaction.”

“Oh, of course,” Bucky said sarcastically, feet back on the floor to pour the macaroni into the bubbling water. “We’ve all done it!”

“Hey, remember,” Steve pressed the back of his hand to his lips, shaking his head, “Remember when we went to your cousin’s for Michaels’s graduation party and Cosmo got loose, running around the neighborhood?” 

Stirring, Bucky thought for a moment before bursting with laughter. “Didn’t he chase you all the way down the block?”

‘The dog’s almost bigger than I am! If I didn’t keep moving, he would’ve trampled me,” he kicked at Bucky again, stretching his toes, “You didn’t see him. He looked like he was out for blood, Buck. It was terrifying.”

“No, bud,” Bucky spun around to drain the pot in the sink, then returned it to the stovetop. “He was out for the hot dog you had in your hand,” he ripped open the packet with his teeth, grimacing at the gritty taste.

“What, am I supposed to just give it up to the damn dog? I don’t think so,” Steve was giggling, arms raising above his head before he stretched across the counter, shifting to lay on his side, fidgeting with his nails.

He closed a cabinet with two bowls in one hand, brows narrowed at Steve’s reclined figure. “We eat off that, y’know,” Bucky started to slap the macaroni and cheese into their bowls. “Some of us, anyways.”

“Oh, hush. Not like we haven’t done worse up here,” Steve pushed himself upright, sliding down with a groan. He glanced at Bucky, leaning beside him. “I’m really not hungry, Buck.”

“Shuddup,” Bucky winked, sticking a fork in Steve’s bowl before forcing it into his hands. “Remember when,” his voice softened as Bucky caressed his upper arm gently, “when we’d have mac and cheese nights on the weekend, throwin’ a fit ‘cause my mom said the dinosaur-shaped ones were ‘too expensive’?” The ends of his mouth upturned in his characteristic smile. “An’ we were happy as shit to have the plain kind anyways.”

He fiddled with the fork, poking at the clumped together pasta, attempting to separate the pieces individually, stabbing through one shaped like Sebastian from The Little Mermaid. “Yeah,” Bucky could see a smile trying to form on Steve’s face, fading more and more every time his looks darted back to the bowl. “We’d make blanket forts out of your sister’s old bedsheets and camp out in front of the TV, pretend like we were on some kinda expedition. Annoyed the hell outta everyone else but, we had fun, so that’s what matters, right,” his eyes settled on Bucky’s.

“S’right,” Bucky nudged him with his elbow, bringing a forkful of Disney characters to his own mouth. “Eat up, kid.”

“Bucky…” Steve looked away, pressing his tongue to his cheek.

“C’mon, Steve.” Bucky gave him a light kiss on the forehead. “It’s my birthday. Jus’ a little.”

Steve raised the pasta with lowering brows, his mouth opening with a crinkle of his nose. “Only because it’s your birthday,” he said with a drawn out chew, eyes flickering close.

Dropping the fork into his bowl, Bucky rubbed the small of his back encouragingly; “Not so hard, huh,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food.

“Guess it’s not,” Steve cupped the back of his neck, thumbing over the collar of his ribbed thermal. He took another bite, setting his bowl down to absentmindedly check his phone, brows raising in surprise. “Hey, look!” Steve shoved it in his face, the screen all too bright and blurred, “Sam said he’s gonna be at the comic con thing too. You know, he’s an even bigger nerd than you are, just hides it better.”

Bucky scooped the discarded bowl and waved it in Steve’s face in return. “Don’t change the subject,” he frowned, but then became confused. “How’s Sam a nerd?”

Steve grabbed it from him with a huff, his hesitation noticeably obvious before he scooped up another wad of pasta, his chin beginning to quiver for a second time that night. “How’s Sam not a nerd? He’s really into modeling, you know, mainly those airplane kits. That’s what he use to do all weekend. Go out to parties during the week and have a social life, and then when I’d knock on his door, he’d always yell ‘Steve, I’m tryin’ to study in here’, but… Caught him once when his door wasn’t locked, all hunched over his desk, tiny brush in his hand and protective goggles,” Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Thought those were kinda cool…” Bucky trailed off, stirring his macaroni around, side-eyeing Steve’s slow chewing. “Hey, wanna get started still tonight?”

“Are you serious?” Steve spat, his mouth full.

Bucky winced with a smile. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Okay, fine,” Steve swallowed loudly, leaning into Bucky to glance towards their messy living room. “Go put something good on, I’ll be there in a minute. Maybe we can watch uh, Alien or something.”

His grin grew even wider; “Yeah — “ he grabbed Steve’s hand excitedly, ignoring the rest of his words as he pulled him back to the living room, bowl in hand, “ — Yeah, we can!” 

* * *

“Steve!” Bucky kicked the door closed, a plain cardboard box balancing in his arms. “Steve, they’re here!” He yelled again as he entered the living room where Steve was surrounded by pieces of plywood, bottles of paints, glues, and varnishes, holding a drill with two hands.

“What’s here?” Steve craned his neck, peering over his shoulder at him. Clicking off the drill with his thumb, he pushed himself from his seated position, rubbing his palms against his saw-dust covered jeans. “We ordered so many things, can’t keep tracking of what’s what anymore.” 

Dropping the package on the floor with a loud thump, Bucky grabbed the pair of wire cutters off the couch seat and started forcing the ends through the box’s brown tape. “The jumpsuits, pretty sure — Yes!” He lifted the first vacuum-packed beige garment, packing peanuts flying everywhere.

“Awh, Buck, the floor,” he kicked at the loose paper strewn about, crossing his arms with a short huff. He glanced into the box, a crooked smile running across his lips. Gesturing at the bag in his hands, he gave a nod of his head, “Well, come on, open it.”

Bucky tore through the plastic wrap, throwing it away in a crinkled ball before holding the suit in front of him. “This one’s yours,” he snickered, tossing it at Steve’s stomach before pulling the second, larger costume from the bottom of the box as more styrofoam peanuts littered the floor.

Steve traced his fingers down the opened front strip of the suit, brushing over soft velcro. “Our eight year old selves would be in shock right now,” Steve laughed, folding the costume over an arm.

“C’mon, buddy” he said while tearing open his own suit, pulling apart the velcro halves, “Try it on.”

“Right now?” Steve quirked a brow at him.

He was already standing again, one leg halfway in his jumpsuit. “‘Course, right now,” Bucky looked up through the brown bangs that fell over his eyes. “Gotta see if it fits.”

With a light, nervous huff of a breath, Steve stepped into the suit — Bucky stopped to watch him as he tugged his arms into the sleeves, pressing to two Velcro halves together. The pants bagged around his ankles and thighs, waist too big and cuffs gaping from his wrists. Bucky could feel himself beaming at his fiancé, from the sight of him dressed up as their childhood heroes, but just from the pure child-like joy he felt running through his veins.

“I ‘unno, Buck,” Steve rolled the far too loose sleeves to his elbows, lips sucked in. He scratched at the back of his head. “You think I look okay?” 

Pulling his own up to his waist, Bucky couldn’t hold in his laughter as he saw Steve tugging fruitlessly at all of the baggy areas hanging off his small frame. “Oh, yeah, don’t look any different than when you were eight,” he snickered, sticking his arms through the top half before tugging the collar taut around his neck.

“Yes I do,” he muttered, sloppily running his fingers through the sides of his recently trimmed hair. Steve hastily opened the jumpsuit, kicking it from his feet. Bucky’s hands froze in place, still on his collar, as he sucked in his cheeks. He watched Steve tiptoe around their mess of a living room, throwing himself on the couch with his knees to his chest. 

Bucky shove his hands into the wide pockets with an exasperated sigh and stepped over the discarded box towards Steve, looking down at him. “Yeah, you do,” he said — though annoyed with Steve’s recent tantrums, Bucky fell into the cushion next to him and knocked his own head gently against Steve’s. “Y’look handsome. We’re gonna look great.”

“You sure?” Steve reached for Bucky’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I mean, I know you will. You always look good, but,” he gave a half hearted shrug, shaking his head, “I dunno. Don’t feel all that comfortable, I guess.”

“Definitely,” Bucky squeezed his hand. “‘Specially after we get done with all of…” He gestured vaguely at the haphazard living room. “All of this.”

A smile was brought back to Steve’s face. “You know, I actually have something I need to show you. Been working on it for the past few weeks. Wanted to keep it a surprise,” he rubbed Bucky’s thigh before letting go of his hand reluctantly. He trailed back towards his dedicated art corner of the room, peeling back a blanket that was draped over his drafting table. He slid out a large piece of cardboard, torn harshly on the edges.

“Look, look,” he waved Bucky over; flat on its back against the ripped box under it was a nearly screen accurate replica of the proton packs worn in the films. Steve’d clearly put his heart into making this, sharp ridges and varying levels of height intricately sculpted in a reddish brown clay. Bucky had to take in all the its immense details slowly, awe struck by what he was looking at. 

“It’s the base we’re gonna use to make our packs. It’s not much right now, gonna look a hell of a lot different when they’re all dolled up with lights and are painted. But, you get the idea.”

“This is what you’ve been hiding all this time?” Bucky was grinning so wide that it hurt; “How the hell’d you do it? All these little — “ he reached out to touch one of the delicate knobs, but Steve slapped his hand away “ — it’s so perfect.”

“Buck,” Steve chuckled, his cheeks flushing. He pushed up on the tips of his toes, kissing Bucky against his cheek, “It’s really not, but, think it’ll look a lot better once it’s cast,” he pointed behind them with a thumb, “s’what I’ve been working on in there while you were gone, the vacuform thing.”

Taking Steve by the nape of his neck, Bucky pulled him closer to return the kiss by planting one on the top of Steve’s head. “Whaddya gotta do now?” He cleared his throat in response to Steve’s raised brows. “What do we gotta do?”

“Well, you can carry that into the kitchen,” he again gestured to the vacuform he’d just built, sitting center of their rug, “y’can also take this in there, carefully. The next step’s the fun part.”

“Aye, captain,” Bucky saluted sarcastically and slipped his arms underneath the cardboard holding the heavy clay base, heaving it upwards and away to the kitchen. Steve leaned against the wall, watching as Bucky came back for the vacuform sitting on the glue-stained rug. “Are you enjoyin’ this?” He asked before walking back to the kitchen counter once more.

“‘Course. Said the next step was gonna be fun, didn’t I? Been pretty fun for me,” Steve pushed off from the wall and grabbed the piled plastic sheets from their coffee table, pinching Bucky’s cheek as he walked by him. He rested his elbows against the counter with his chin pressed to his palms, grinning. “You excited?”

“Very,” Bucky said nervously, not knowing what to expect from the contraption Steve had just built. 

“C’mere,” Steve tugged on the collar of the jumpsuit Bucky still wore, giggling against his lips with a crinkle to his eyes. “You’re so cute. You ever gonna take that thing off, or is that what you’re living in for the next month?”

Bucky kissed him softly, pulling away with a chuckle of his own. “Maybe it’s my new career. Position is open for secretary, if y’interested.”

“Sure, always wanted to be a secretary. What do I gotta do?” He ran his hand up and down Bucky’s chest, who held Steve close with hands resting on his hips. “Y’know, the usual: take calls, look pretty, suck up to the boss,” he cocked his head, lifting his chin.

“And, what is it exactly that I’m sucking up?” Steve wiggled his brows.

“Language, Steve,” Bucky warned, giving him another kiss on the forehead and letting go of him to turn towards the refrigerator, swinging the door open. 

  
“Oh, please. Don’t act like you don’t like that.” Grabbing the cord of the tiny shop vac that was tucked away beside their coffee maker, Steve plugged it into the wall outlet, fussing over its settings. 

Bucky peered over Steve’s shoulder, a fresh bottle of Cherry Coke in his hands. With a half smirk, he pressed the cold drink against his bare arm, Steve jumping in response. “M’sorry,” he smiled, twisting off the top, “Forgot how sensitive y’are.”

He craned his neck, giving Bucky a wink before turning to pull out a baking tray, clicking the oven on and setting its temperature. He tapped on the cardboard under the proton pack with a nail. “Help me shimmy this on here.”

Re-capping and tucking the bottle in the crux of his elbow, Bucky lifted the clay mold from underneath again, carefully sliding it onto the surface of the mechanism.

Steve set the plastic sheet across the tray, nudging open the small window beside the fridge. “I know it’s cold out but, little cold air is better than dying of plastic fumes. In my opinion, at least.” With a beep, he set the tray inside, keeping a watchful eye on it. “Just needs a couple minutes then we should be good to go."

“M’not the one who gets cold so easily, Stevie,” Bucky ruffled his blond hair, only to be smoothed out again by Steve’s jittery hand. “Haven’t made costumes in a long time…”

Steve snorted. “Last ones we did were uh,” he bit his lip, scratching the side of his jaw, “wasn’t it something from Indiana Jones? Went to five different thrift stores to find everything.”

“Shit, we were — “ Bucky leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling, “ — ‘bout fifteen, huh? And you were the girl, even then,” he laughed.

“Yeah,” Steve rolled his eyes, “why’re you making me always be the girls, Buck? That some kinda sick fantasy of yours, cause I’m noticing a trend.” 

“Y’make a cute girl!” he protested. “You never complained before, anyways.”

“Whatever you like Buck, I guess...:” Steve teasingly swiped his thumb against the dip of Bucky’s chin, turning towards the dinging oven. He grabbed the gloves he’d sat down nearby , setting the tray on top the stove.

Bucky admired the proton pack mold, wishing he could finally touch it without ruining Steve’s work. “Guess this has to cool down? What’s next?” He asked in succession.

“No, Buck,” Steve chuckled, grabbing a metal frame from the counterspace near Bucky, locking the sheet between its two parts. “Has to be hot still. We’re gonna form this over the clay. Can you turn on the vacuum, please?”

“Oh, alright.” Following Steve’s orders, he clicked on the small vacuum and brought it over. “Then what?” He reopened the soda, taking in another long sip.

Setting down the plastic sheet briefly, Steve attached the hose into the side of the vacuforming table. Looking at Bucky with a slight nod, he grinned, leveling the sheet over the clay form. “Then comes the fun part!” He pressed into the proton pack with a heavy hand, making sure to capture every detail and edge. After a few seconds, he held the piece up to Bucky.

“Got a perfect cast of it! Gonna be lightweight and easy to wear.”

“So,” Bucky eyed the thing, going over its details again. “W’gonna paint it, or something? Put lights in it, too?” He asked, still not sure what would come next.

“Yes Bucky, they’ll be painted. Also have the lights in them,” he lifted another heated piece of plastic, locking it into the frame after removing the molded piece. “We’ll cut these out, glue the two pieces together. Can actually get started on the painting and all today, if ya want. Don’t think anyone’s supposed to be in the studio.”

His childhood excitement bubbled up inside of him. “Would love to,” Bucky said eagerly. “Can even drive us there.”

Steve pinched his cheek. He pushed the cooling sheet over the sculpted base for a second time, holding it in place, creating the prop Bucky would soon wear. “Hey, you still have that aux cord, right?” 

“The one with the cassette? ‘Course,” he said, watching Steve at work. “You’re not thinking of…?”

“What, One Direction?” 

Bucky gave him a knowing look, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, that.”

“No,” Steve snorted. “Was thinking more like playing the Ghostbusters theme at full volume.’

A smile flickered across his face again. “Sounds way better, buddy,” Bucky sighed in relief and nudged Steve with his elbow.

“Though,” Steve set down the formed piece, tapping a finger against Bucky’s shoulder, “a little bit of both wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

“Steve,” he groaned, wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “It really would be.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby,” Steve leaned into his chest, snickering faintly. In the same breath, he began to sing, humming to himself, “Baby you light up my world like nobody else, that way you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed. But when you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell. You don’t know, you’re beautiful,” he pinched his side again as Bucky whined, adding, “I know you like that one, don’t lie Buck.”

Bucky leaned in to kiss Steve on the lips in an effort to keep him from singing again. “S’okay,” he breathed. “Catchy, at least.”

Steve scrunched his nose. “See, I knew it,” his eyes traveled down Bucky’s body as he gave his sleeve a tug, “You gonna wear this to the studio?”

“Guess not,” he lightly tugged at the velcro panels. “Wouldn’t wanna get paint all over.” Bucky left the kitchen, shaking off the torso of his jumpsuit.

Steve peered out from behind the open wall, leaning sideways. “In the off chance we do run into anyone, I can still introduce you as my fiancé who’s also a professional Ghostbuster.”

With the suit, wrinkled and abandoned on the couch, Bucky grabbed his keys off a side table and smoothed his hair. “I’ll hold you to that,” he smiled, waiting for Steve to finish.

* * *

  
Holding his keycard over the scanner outside the entrance of the brick building, Steve pulled open the front door, Bucky scooting past him with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He wrapped his fingers around his wrist, guiding them towards the old elevator. With a press of a button, Steve hopped inside, Bucky yanking down the barred doors.

“No one really comes here on Sundays, so,” he shifted on his feet, “we can be here for however long we want. Think we can get these primed and base coated at least.”

“Long as we want?” Bucky winked, leaning against the corner of the elevator with his arms crossed.

“Well, maybe not too long,” Steve flicked his cheek, snickering. The elevator came to a sharp halt as its generator buzzed out a low and steady hum. Bucky again lifted its doors with a grunt as Steve took them down the long hallway of the various loft studios, jingling around his keys in his pocket.

Unlocking their studio’s door with a faint click, he took the bag from Bucky and set it down near a paint booth, rifling through a metal shelf full of different spray paints and cans.

Bucky settled in on one of the cushions perched against the wall and watched Steve picking up can after can, occasionally shaking them to hear the tinny rattle inside. “Haven’t been here in a long time, huh? Almost didn’t recognize the pl—”

Both men looked towards the sound of a door creaking open a second time, an angular, stubble-ridden face peering inside. “Anyone out there?” he called, tucking a lock of brown hair behind his ear.

“Oh, hey Thomas,” Steve set down an unopened tub of varnish, shifting to lean against the doorframe. The much taller man, Thomas apparently, greeted Steve with a light pat to the small of his back, grin widely spreading across his lips.

Pushing himself off the cushion a little too fast, Bucky stared at the two with his hands balled up in his pockets, waiting to be introduced. Having already recognized the familiar wrinkle of jealousy on Bucky’s face, Steve reached to pinch his arm. “Buck, he works here,” he gestured towards Thomas. “Working on this big project, it’s pretty incredible.”

“Thomas,” the man smiled, holding his hand outwards. “Bucky,” he complied, gripping it in return.

Thomas turned back to Steve, his smile turning genuine again, and Bucky’s hand back in its pocket. “What’re you up to? Thought it was your off day.”

“Well, you see,” Steve gave Bucky’s chest a firm pat, “my fiancé here’s a professional Ghostbuster.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, we’re just working on a uh, costume.”

“That true?” he side-eyed Bucky with a laugh, who had already been doing the same in his direction. “Isn’t Halloween kinda far off?”

Steve waved his hand. “S’not for Halloween. Actually,” he stepped away from the two, unzipping the duffel bag to pull out one of the packs, both sides now glued together but its seams still rough and unsanded. He stood between them, gingerly shifting his weight into Bucky’s side. “This is what I’ve been working on. Not finished yet, by any means, but sculpted it all in roma plastilina first and then vacuformed these,” he handed it gently to Thomas.

“You never fail to impress, Steve,” he held the proton pack in his arms and ran a finger around one of the knobs, not hearing the low huff from Bucky’s sharp exhale. “So, you said this was vacuformed? Get one of those fancy tables?”

Steve shook his head. “Looked up a tutorial on how to make one yourself. Maybe not the best thing in the world but definitely a lot cheaper. Like, three hundred dollars cheaper,” he chuckled, his head turning to look at Bucky who was tugging on his coat.

“We gonna get started or what?” he muttered, avoiding Thomas’ concerned, but still smiling, face.

“Yeah Bucky, we will,” he caressed over the gruff of Bucky’s cheek before sucking in his lips, cocking his head at his friend. “Hey TJ, you mind showing Bucky how to get started with the palm sander? I just gotta go to the bathroom for a sec.”

Steve’s friend — now he was TJ — didn’t hesitate to scoop up the handheld sander from their studio’s table. “No problem,” he gave a toothy grin towards Bucky and laid the proton pack onto the table as Steve left for the tiny restroom at the other end of the hall. 

“Ever used one of these before?” TJ asked as he rifled through a folder full of different grit sandpaper, replacing the one on the tool. He plugged it into the wall, flicking the switch on briefly before turning it off, meeting Bucky’s eyes.

He leaned both hands on the table, matching TJ’s innocent stare with his own jealous glare. “‘Course,” he said, unreasonably annoyed with the fact that their eyes were a similar shade of clear green.

“M’kay. I’m assuming he wanted you to,” TJ turned the proton pack onto its side, pointing to the seams, “sand all of those down first. Think there’s some,” he stretched to grab a can of Bondo from a wall hanging shelf, “filler here, just in case y’can’t get it smooth enough.”

His sleeve slid up to expose the skyline of Brooklyn tattooed in shades of black and grey; though he only got a glimpse, Bucky could recognize Steve’s art anywhere, his brows furrowing instantly.

Bucky took the sander from his hand, still eyeing the arm of which the abstract piece was etched into. “Your tattoo — “ he started, looking up at TJ’s face again. “That’s Steve’s.”

“Oh, yeah!” His eyes crinkled as his fingers slipped under the cuff of his button down shirt, sliding his sleeve to the nook of his elbow to reveal the entirety of his tattoo as well as careless charcoal marks below the Brooklyn bridge and a few worried pinpricks dotting the empty space above the cloudy sky. “This was a painting he was working on, last year I think? It was for a gallery opening or something but,” he turned his arm slowly, Bucky gawking at the detailed buildings, “born and raised in Brooklyn. Thought it looked pretty cool. He wasn’t sure about it at first but I got him to eventually give in.”

“Yeah, I know it. It’s hangin’ in our apartment,” he lied, resisting the urge to press the sander against TJ’s arm. “How long’ve you known each other, anyways?” Bucky turned his back towards TJ and started analyzing the small machine, looking for the ‘On’ switch.

“Maybe three years now?” He reached over Bucky’s shoulder, pressing the button under his thumb, the tool vibrating to life. “We had a few classes together but never really talked much until he started working here.”

Bucky, annoyed at the touch, moved the sander too quickly onto the pack’s seam, accidently shoving it several inches across the table with a loud skid. “You like him?” he asked, pulling it back towards himself before carefully attempting to sand the side again.

“I mean, I think Steve’s a really nice guy,” he skirted around Bucky, holding the end of the proton pack, steadying it in place.

“Yeah, he is.” Bucky was slowly guiding the sander along the seam, occasionally being thrown off by a rogue bump; TJ just had to give him a good-natured smile at every single one. “You seeing anyone?”

He gave Bucky a blank stare, his smile fading as he rolled his tongue. “Didn’t, uh— didn’t Steve say you two were engaged or something?”

His thumb fumbled to switch the sander off. “Not what I meant,” Bucky had to stop himself from rolling his eyes before waving his hand at the proton pack. “Other side. Please.”

TJ flipped it around so Bucky could reach the opposite seam, steadying it again in place. Clearing his throat to settle the awkward tenseness that was building between them, he spoke softly, “Yeah, actually getting married in about two months. Met Mantis when we were in preschool and we’ve just always gotten along since.”

“Mantis?” Bucky blurted out, turning the sander back on and working down the ridges.

“Oh,” he laughed to himself, “her name’s actually Mandy. It’s just a dumb nickname that’s stuck around, always forget it’s the name of a bug.” Bucky looked at him for a long second before he continued, “We use to go bug hunting as kids. You know, for fireflies and grasshoppers and all that.”

His mind involuntarily brought out memories of what Steve and him did when they were kids, finally bringing the smile back to his face as he remembered the day Steve had declared him to be called ‘Bucky’ from then on. He thought it was a hell of a lot cooler than ‘James’ — sounded like ‘something out of G. I. Joe,’ Steve had told him.

“Sounds like fun,” Bucky mumbled distractedly.

“So, do you guys already have a date picked out?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “October sixteenth.”

“You doing a big thing or something more private? We’re gonna have somewhere around a hundred or so guests. Not too bad, but,” he laughed again, but with more of a nervous energy, “man, really takes a lot of work to plan a wedding.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said, realizing that Steve still was not back yet. “Uh, not really a big thing,” he clicked off the sander and set it on the table. “M’gonna go check on Steve.” He waved in response to TJ’s “Oh, okay!” on his way towards the bathroom.

Hovering his knuckles against the door, Bucky listened for a moment, only hearing the sound of the sink running. “Y’okay, buddy?” He tapped on the door. 

The faucet abruptly cut off with a squeak followed by the toilet flushing and a loud bang behind the door. The door slowly opened, Steve looking up at Bucky with fluttering, bloodshot eyes, like he couldn’t even keep them open. He had the back of his palm pressed to his mouth. “Yeah Buck, it’s all go—” he stumbled over his feet, falling into Bucky.

“Christ, Steve,” Bucky gripped his arms to hold him upright, craning his own neck down to see Steve’s face. “You jerk off too hard in there, or what?”

Steve gave him a tired smirk, pinching his side. “Mhm. Was thinking about you in that jumpsuit, just couldn’t get myself to stop.”

He stretched his arms out to make Steve stand on his own two, uneasy feet. “Seriously, you sick? Do we needa go home?” Bucky palmed Steve’s cheek, running a thumb along the lines forming under his eyes.

“I’m not sick,” Bucky could hear that familiar tone of anger that he’d grown use to rising in his voice.

Hooking his arm around Steve’s, Bucky started to guide him back to their studio. “Forget it, then,” he brushed off Steve’s moodiness and half-carried him in silence the rest of the way.

“Buck,” he whispered. Bucky peered in the door at a preoccupied TJ, scrolling down his phone with a knee crossed over his leg, sitting among the many floor pillows.

He stopped before TJ noticed them. “What’s the matter?” he cooed, watching Steve’s glassy eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine, Stevie.” Bucky bent to kiss his forehead, deciding not to ask as he let Steve lead them inside.

“Hey!” TJ looked up from his phone, his expression dimming as he stared from Bucky’s face to Steve’s. “Oh, shit,” he got to his feet, rolling up his sleeves before approaching Steve. “You feeling okay?” Bucky tapped away the hand that TJ was trying to feel Steve’s forehead with. 

“S’alright,” he said, letting his arm fall out from under Steve’s.

“The hell’s everyone always asking me that for,” Steve shakily muttered, walking back towards the work table, tracing his finger down the smoothened edge of the proton pack.

Bucky reluctantly exchanged a look with TJ before following Steve. “Looks okay?” he asked quietly. “Can we paint it?”

Steve let out a low sigh of air, turning on his feet to take Bucky’s hand into his own. “It’s good, Buck. Looks really good,” he said with a nod, leaning a hand against the table. “Gotta prime it and cut out the parts for the lights first, honey. Then we can paint it.”

“Ready when you are,” Bucky shifted uncomfortably, feeling TJ’s stare. 

“Hey…” He started, Steve and Bucky both turning to look at him. “Hey, what happened?” Steve’s hand was suddenly being held in TJ’s, his fingers prodding the callouses on Steve’s knuckles.

Bucky grabbed TJ’s wrist, the pressure causing him to instantly let go of Steve, who recoiled from the two of them. “Fuck you doing?” Bucky gripped tighter.

“I just — Jesus, that hurts” TJ pulled himself against Bucky’s hold in vain. “Let go,” he whined.

Bucky held for a few moments longer, biting his lip before warning him in a low growl. “Don’t ever touch ‘im,” he finally let go, his own knuckles whitened to match Steve’s.

TJ was rubbing his own wrist. “His hand’s bleeding, asshole,” he took a step back. “Was trying to see if he’s all right.” Bucky softened his glare and turned around to see Steve, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jeans.

“Lemme see — “

“Don’t fucking touch me, Bucky.”

With an angry huff, Bucky grabbed his forearm with one hand and his fingers with the other, almost pulling Steve off his feet. “What’d you do?” His eyes flickered to Steve’s, which were looking at everything but Bucky’s own.

“It’s none of your goddamn busi—” his blond lashes tapped against his freckle covered, flushed cheeks, forehead creasing. He exhaled through his nostrils. “Just got a little frustrated and took it out on myself is all.”

He let Steve’s arm fall to his side and rested his own on his hips, letting Steve know with his expression alone that he believed none of what he just said. “Fine. Forget I asked.”

Steve lowered his voice, finally looking at Bucky with a pained expression that tugged at his heart. “James, you wouldn’t get it if I told you the truth,” he reached out to touch his bicep.

“S’how I used to think, too,” he tugged down on the hem of his own sleeve, acutely aware that TJ was still lingering, half-heartedly pretending not to pay attention to their argument.

Steve watched him carefully, wrapping his fingers around Bucky’s. His mouth had opened, Steve wetting his lips, but then he peered past him, rocking on his heels. “Hey, TJ.”

“Hey,” TJ gave a feeble wave, feigning a surprised look as if he had thought no one else was around.

Steve forced out a painfully obvious fake laugh, resting the side of his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Why’d you come to the studio today? Know it’s also your day off. You just bored or something?”

“Oh, I just,” He laughed nervously, scratching the crux of his elbow. “Yeah, just bored. You guys staying long?”

“Probably a couple more hours. Did you wanna use the room…?”

“No, I — I’m gonna rest a little. See if there’s anything good in the break room — any coffee.” TJ turned away to grab the door handle, pausing at another question from Steve. “Coffee? At,” he checked his watch, “Eight, at night?”

TJ pumped the handle and was halfway out the door when he yelled back, “Decaf!” 

Slouching further into Bucky, Steve let out another puff of warm air, tracing down his jacket until he cupped Bucky’s free hand. “That was… weird.”

“That guy’s your friend?” Bucky felt Steve nod his head. “Y’ever notice his arm?”

Steve played with Bucky’s ring. “Buck, if this is about the tattoo—”

“ — Nah,” he interrupted; Bucky had nearly forgotten about the damn tattoo. “Guy’s a junkie.”

Steve hastily raised his head, knocking hard against Bucky’s jaw. Muttering an apology while simultaneously rubbing circles against his skull, he looked at him doe eyed. “The hell you talking about?”

“Aw, Steve.” Bucky ruffled Steve’s hair before walking to his cushion and falling into it, leaning his head against the wall. “Had marks all in his elbow. Poor kid’s probably getting high right now.”

“Should we…” Steve looked between Bucky and the door, “do something? I never noticed that before. I mean, he use to keep a pack of needles in his tackle box but that’s not uncommon for what we do, so I never thought twice about it.” His face fell as he tried to bite back a frown, “Now I feel awful, Bucky.”

He looked up at Steve with a sad half-smile. “Not really our business, buddy. Don’t get yourself so worked up over it, okay?” Bucky waved his hand towards the work table littered with the sander, paint cans, and tub of filler they abandoned earlier. “We gonna get to work, or what?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied meek, returning to pick up the proton pack, turning it over in his hands. He was looking at Bucky again, chin quivering noticeably. “That just reminds me of when you were, you know. And I couldn’t do anything to help you, and…”

Bucky pushed himself off the cushion and walked up behind Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his cheek in Steve’s mess of hair. “You gonna start crying again?” He said in a mock-baby voice.

“N-no,” Steve’s chuckle wavered. “...Bucky, listen. About earlier, I,” he trailed off.

“Doesn’t matter.” Bucky held him tighter. “I forgive you — even if you are a lil’ asshole.”

Steve nudged Bucky in the ribs with his elbow, snorting. “No I, I know I am. Buck, one last thing, okay?”

“Yeah?” He let go, moving one arm to lie across his narrow shoulders instead and looked down into Steve’s watery eyes.

“I love you, James.”

“Love you too, Stevie.”

“Okay,” he roughly shoved the unfinished proton pack against Bucky’s chest with a sniffle, dimples indenting his cheeks. “Now that I got you standin’,” he wiped the back of his hand against his eyes, “you keep sanding this and I’ll get started on the second one.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

* * *

It had been almost three hours and Steve was still sanding away at the unfinished proton pack, a pile of crumpled up sanding paper to his side. They’d luckily gotten one of the models at least primed, now ready for painting and its finer details, but Bucky had quickly lost interest soon after Steve taught him how to work with the airbrush.

Craning his neck, Steve’s brows lowered with a gentle huff. He was leaning back in the old office chair he always sat in; only reason he preferred that one over the others was so he could spin around in it the whole time. 

“So, you’re done helping, huh?” he closed the can of Bondo with a light clink, swiveling around to face Bucky fully.

“I’m tired, Steve” Bucky groaned from the floor, flat on his back and his leg crossed over one knee. “Hungry, too. S’gotta be morning already.”

Steve glanced at his watch, rolling his eyes. “It’s only eleven, you old man.”

“Oh.” He sat up, smoothing his hair. “Past your bedtime, little man.”

“Awh, but it’s not even a school night!” Steve mock whined, but instead ended up laughing at himself.

Bucky smacked him on the knee before standing up fully, dusting off his jeans. “Hey, you know where we haven’t been in a while?” Bucky leaned over Steve, his hands gripping either side of the chair’s arm rests. “McDonald’s,” he started to snicker. “Lil’ guy want a Happy Meal?”

A grin formed across Steve’s face as he crinkled his nose. “Depends on what kinda toys they have. You remember years ago when they used to have those robotic animals and stuff?”

“No, I really don’t,” Bucky laughed. He admired the lines that appeared at the corners of Steve’s eyes as his smile grew, unable to stop himself from leaning in further to press his lips against Steve’s, tasting the mint he had in his mouth. He felt him gently hook his thumb through Bucky’s belt loop.

“You sure—” Steve breathed hot enough against his skin to send shivers down his spine, teeth grazing his lips. His fingers lazily danced across his thighs, his movements drawn out as he traced down the metal of his jean’s fly. “—you don’t wanna just go home?”

The side of his mouth upturned into a smirk at the thought, Bucky’s hand toying with the top button of Steve’s dress shirt. “Now that you mention it — “

A sharp knock sounded at the door. “Hey, guys!” TJ was jostling the handle. With a hand placed to Bucky’s chest, Steve pushed him out of the way, hopping to his feet in a hurry. He rushed towards the interruption, but TJ finally found his own key and was opening the door before Steve could touch the handle.

TJ was smiling from the other side, reaching to smooth his already-tucked hair behind his ear. “Just wanted to see how it was going — how’s it going?” Bucky moved to stand behind Steve, arm slung around his shoulders as he held a bleak smile; he wished he could see Steve’s expression right now as his fiancé stumbled over his words.

“It’s going...” Bucky saw Steve’s hand fly to the back of his neck to scratch the shorter part of his hair. “We’ve just finished, actually. Room’s all yours, if — if you need it.” At this, TJ walked past Steve and saw the half-finished proton pack on the table. “Thanks, hey, this looks good!”

“Thanks,” Bucky crossed his arms, smiling down at their hard work. “Think Steve did most of it, though.”

“Yeah, I did,” Steve hauled the duffel bag onto his chair. Climbing the short ladder to the upper half of the studio’s loft, Bucky watched as Steve picked up a large cylinder of bubble wrap, ripping off a small section with his teeth. He called back to them, “you gave up almost immediately and played ‘Bejeweled’ on your phone instead.”

He rounded the table with a huff back to his cushion, sulking into it. Steve moved past him, wrapping the plastic pieces carefully before shoving them into their bag. “Y’couldn’t even carry the thing earlier,” Bucky muttered, pulling out his phone again and tapping the screen to life.

TJ teetered back and forth on the balls of his feet, watching Bucky warily out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, you’ll have to show me when you’re done,” his eyes meandered back in Steve’s direction. “Take a lotta pictures, okay?”

“We will,” he zipped up the duffel. Bucky peered over his phone; Steve gestured at the bag with a nod of his head, smiling at him with a lopsided grin that he just knew Bucky couldn’t say no to.

Bucky rolled his eyes and stood again, stuffing his phone back into his pocket before gripping the straps, heaving the bag around his shoulder. “S’what I’m here for,” he tapped Steve’s cheek.

“Yes you are. Thanks, sweetheart,” Steve laced his fingers with Bucky’s, squeezing his hand. He shifted his weight against Bucky, eyes darting to TJ. With a low clear of his throat, he spoke in a wavering tone, “Hey, uh, Thomas? If you ever need to talk about anything, at all, I’m always here to lend an ear.” 

Bucky could see his eyes widening as he whispered to him under his breath, “That’s the dumbest expression I’ve ever heard.” Bucky felt Steve’s grip harden again in an attempt to stifle his laughter as they walked to the door together.

TJ stood aside, letting them pass with a nod. “Uh, sure,” he knit his brows. “Oh, good luck, too — on the costumes, I mean. See you next week, Steve?” he called to Steve who was shifting from one foot to another. “Sure,” he smiled. “See you around.”

As they left into the hall, Bucky nudged Steve in the elbow with raised brows, who shushed him in a low hiss under the sound of the studio door being slammed shut, its lock clicking.

The air was several degrees cooler as they emerged from the studio, Bucky pulling Steve closer into his side. They walked back towards the small parking lot beside the building, Bucky fishing for his keys in his jacket’s pocket. Unlocking the trunk of his beat up Buick, he shrugged the bag from his shoulder, tossing it in with a whine from Steve.

“Careful, Buck. You break these before we get to the convention, and I swear…”

Bucky looked down at him with a curious smirk. “Y’swear what, Steve?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I’ll, uh…” he snapped his fingers, “I’ll throw out your Alien DVD box set.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh, Steve’s face falling. “S’good thing I got them all digitally then.” He stepped away from Steve, yanking the door open with a shake. He flicked on the heater as Steve slid into the passenger seat with a groan, pulling out his own phone. “Here,” he dropped it in his lap, “find somethin’ good — quit your poutin’, you bubble wrapped them. They’re fine.”

Steve plugged the cord into the top of Bucky’s phone, angling the screen away from him. He quickly typed out something, the screen going black before Bucky could see what he was up to.

Steve stared Bucky deep in the eyes as a cheerful tune played through the speakers, “You know I’ve always got your back, girl, so let me be the one you come running to.”

Staring right back at him, Bucky’s face was completely expressionless as he turned the key the rest of the way before moving his fingers to a knob on the dash, slowly lowering the volume and shifting into drive.

Steve extended his arm, turning back up the volume, as high as it would allow. He reached out and roughly ruffled Steve’s hair, smirking despite himself while he pulled away from the curb in the direction of the nearest McDonalds. Although Steve refused to eat much else, Bucky figured a Happy Meal really might work.

“Hey,” Bucky lowered the volume again, despite Steve’s small whine. “So, about TJ.”

Steve slouched in his seat, kicking his feet onto the dashboard. “Oh, God, Bucky. Is this actually about...”

“Your — his tattoo. Your painting.” He flicked the signal, coming to a stop. “What’s the story with that?”

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, leaning into the headrest. “Thomas was in a coupla my classes, and I never really spoke to him but, Rosy,” he saw Steve cringe at the name, “was actually the one that introduced us ‘cause he’s one of the head directors at that studio. He’s always been a fan of my stuff, that’s why he wanted me to work there in the first place.”

“But y’never let me get one?” Bucky frowned, glancing at Steve. “All those times I asked for you to paint something I could put on my own arm.”

Steve sighed, shifting in his seat to face Bucky, lowering his legs. “Look, it’s not like I wanted him to get that either. He kept begging and begging and, Bucky, he offered a shit ton of cash to redraw it for him. I couldn’t turn that down, not when we really needed the money.”

He rested a hand on Steve’s thigh, facing forward again. “He likes you that much, huh?” Bucky huffed before adding in a whisper, “Language.”

“It’s not,” he felt Steve’s fingers cup over his, “it’s not that. What, are you jealous of him? Is that what this is about?”

“Nah,” Bucky said quickly. “Just dunno why you’d never let me get one, y’don’t think I’d look good?”

“No. It’s because I don’t want you to get a tattoo just for the sake of getting one. I know how insecure you feel about your scars, trust me. But, honey,” he thumbed over the back of his wrist, “I want you to tell me what you want instead of just picking something I’ve already done, or me doing it for you. I want you to be able to wear short sleeves again and look down at your arm and see something you love instead of something you hate, trust me.”

Bucky took his hand from Steve’s, gripping the wheel to make a wide turn into the restaurant’s drive-thru, stopping behind another car. “Something I love, huh?” He faced Steve with a smile that gave away the fact that Bucky already had something in mind.

Steve sucked in his lips. “What? You gonna get my name tattooed in cursive?”

His face instantly scrunched up. “Uh, no,” Bucky turned to face the bright backlit menu outside the window. “Was thinking of an alien…” He trailed off.

He could hear Steve chuckling, feel him tug on his sleeve. “You want a giant xenomorph across your arm, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” Bucky looked at Steve again before nodding his head in the direction of the McDonald’s. “Whaddya want?”

Steve clicked his seat belt loose, shimmying across Bucky’s lap with his palms digging in, eyes squinted to their full extent. “Pokemon or Hello Kitty,” he read out loud, tapping Bucky’s knee as he turned to look at him, his face uncomfortably close. “Well, I do want a happy meal.”

One elbow on the door frame, Bucky rested his cheek in his palm and watched Steve through tired eyes. “Did you really hafta sit on me to figure that out?” He tapped the gas, making Steve’s forehead knock against his own. “Get offa me,” Bucky pressed down again, pulling up next to the speaker box and cranking the window open.

Steve groaned under his breath. “Yeah, I did, ‘cause I didn’t know what toys they had!” Clearly ignoring Bucky’s protests, Steve fully climbed onto him, his back pressed to his chest.

“You can’t just — “

“Hi, welcome to McDonald’s! What can I get for you?” An annoyingly polite voice crackled through the speaker.

“Hiii,” he swivled his torso as he leaned practically half his body out the window, pushing up on his knees.Bucky took his hand off the steering wheel to quickly wrap his arm around Steve’s thin waist before he actually fell out. “Can I get a happy meal, please?”

“Sure! For a girl or boy?”

“Uh, whatever one gets me Hello Kitty. Oh!” Bucky heard him snort, bringing a smile to his own face, “And can I get a Cherry Coke?” 

“Uh-huh,” the woman replied immediately. “That all for you?”

Bucky pulled Steve out of the way by his shoulder and leaned out the window himself. “Can I get uh....coupla cheeseburgers, too? And a big Coke. That’s all.”

“A large Coke and what cheeseburgers?”

“Coupla.”

“Okay,” her sigh was vaguely audible through the buzz of the speaker. “Your total will be twelve-fifty at the window.”

“That’s so goddamn expen—” Bucky slapped his palm against Steve’s mouth and craned his neck to see past him, slowly moving the car forward again. “Language. Y’really gonna sit there the whole time?”

“Mhm. ‘s comfortable,” he leaned back into him, putting his hands next to Bucky’s on the wheel, “Haha, look, I’m driving.”

“You’re a child,” Bucky swatted his hands away. “Y’didn’t take anything outta TJ’s supplies, did you?”

“Supplies? Buck, he wasn’t working today, what’re you talking about? I use my own tools.”

They moved forward again, Bucky shifting uncomfortably under Steve’s weight to pull his wallet from his jeans, slipping his card from it and in the direction of the cashier behind the store window. “Nothin’,” Bucky chuckled, unable to look out the window in embarrassment as he took his card back a moment later.

Steve still would not leave Bucky’s lap by the second window, who had most of his face covered by his own palm at this point as he glanced at the bag of food being held through the window. He again twisted around awkwardly, kneeing Bucky in the groin— (“Jesus, fuck, Steve”) — as he crinkled the paper between his fingers. He tossed the bag into his empty seat, rattling the ice in his drink around.

“Thank you!” Steve yelled cheerfully as he clumsily shifted off of Bucky, nearly spilling his drink on himself as he fell on top of the bag. 

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Bucky grumbled, leaving the drive-thru while Steve rifled around in the bag; Bucky could hear the fries being spilled down the bottom.

“Oh come on, you know you wouldn’t want it any other way,” Steve pulled out a small plastic bag, ripping it open with his front teeth. Bucky glanced at him, a small figure of Hello Kitty cupped in his palm. “You know, they gave you, like, five burgers,” he scooted the paper back with his finger, “all different kinds too.”

“Really?” He blindly reached a hand into the bag, feeling around it and grabbing a loose french fry that he popped into his mouth. “Y’gonna help me eat them, or didja just want that dumb toy?” Bucky kept shifting his gaze from the road back towards Steve, who was attempting to find a suitable spot for his toy on the dash.

“I mean, it’s pretty cool, don’tcha think?” Steve tried to balance it upright, only to be knocked over by every small bump. “Think if we just added a little super glue, it’d stay in place?”

“Do not,” Bucky grimaced, flicking the toy with his finger, making Steve juggle for it before it fell to the carpet. “We’re back, dunno if you noticed.” He cut the engine, the pop choruses of One Direction coming to a halt as Steve was picking up the tiny Hello Kitty, wiping the lint from it.

“Awh, the music,” he looked up at Bucky, biting the skin of his lower lip. Bucky rolled his eyes with a sigh, could tell the cogs in Steve’s brain were turning.

“What is it, Steve?”

He shoved the toy against the tip of Bucky’s nose, his eyes crossing. Steve talked in a force high pitched voice that was reminiscent of something from a children’s show, cracking off at the end of each word. “Hey there, Bucky!”

“Think it’s about time you eat something, buddy — “

“Don’t look at the man behind me, Buck! It’s just you and me now, pal!” He shook the toy.

Bucky refocused his eyes on Steve’s gaut, tired face before leaning over and unlocking the passenger side door. “Get out, or I’ll force you t’eat all the hamburgers.”

“Fine,” Steve looked at the toy for a second longer before shoving it in his pocket, stepping out of the car with a stumble. He picked up the bag and balanced it in between his elbow, taking a swig of his drink before slamming the door shut.

Following suit, Bucky unlatched his seatbelt, detaching his phone from its aux cord before taking Steve’s hand as his fiancé came around to the driver’s side to be led across the street and through the lobby doors (Steve not forgetting his usual nod at the woman behind the front desk). 

“It’s the home stretch, little guy,” Bucky held his arm around Steve’s waist, as he was wrought with hunger, sleep deprivation, and the aftermath of workshop fumes. One step at a time, they ambled up the stairs, Steve letting out all of his nonsense thoughts along the way until finally Bucky fished the apartment keys from Steve’s pocket to jostle the lock open.

“ —you really don’t remember them? They use to sell the big version of uh, that robotic dog at Toys R Us. Always would ask Santa for it for Christmas but it was fifty dollars, or something, so ‘course I never got it.”

“Why not just get a real dog?” He pushed the door open, nudging Steve inside first and kicking the door shut behind them.

“Now, where’s the fun in that? Real dogs are scary, Buck. Robo dogs are where it’s at,” Steve peeled off his jacket, first removing the toy from its pocket and hung it up on the wall mounted coat rack, pivoting to face Bucky. “Plus, they lit up. Don’t see any real dog doin’ that.”

Bucky put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, turning him around towards the couch where he gently pushed him onto the cushions. “They do if you set them on fire,” he plucked the fast food bag from Steve’s hands.

Steve clenched his fist around the collar of Bucky’s shirt, pulling him down with him. He flicked his ear as he muttered in shock, “The way your mind works really worries me sometimes, James.”

“You worry me, Steve,” Bucky caught his fingers before his hand fell from his ear, inspecting the white of Steve’s knuckles. He straightened back up to leave Steve, still whining on the couch, to run a hand towel under the bathroom sink.

“You don’t gotta…” Steve’s voice trailed off before he grew silent.

Bucky peered outside the doorway; Steve was sprawled on the couch, arms limp as his fingertips barely held onto the Hello Kitty toy sitting lopsided in his lap. Flicking the bathroom light off, Bucky came to kneel beside the couch, gently tapping the bloodied parts with the towel, sighing. “Yeah I do,” he whispered.

* * *

Bucky’s legs were stretched against the edge of their coffee table, heel knocking against one of the many unopened packages he’d picked up earlier from the post office. They’d been up since the crack of dawn, working away at whatever they could on their costumes; sanding finished and parts cut out for the LEDs, they’d finished up the rest of the priming base coats in their parking garage, suspiciously hiding their work anytime someone walked by. 

Bucky was groggily picking off what was left over of his cold fries, McDonald’s bag tipped over on his lap. They’d put on Bladerunner, mostly for background noise — he was half watching the movie, his attention mostly focused on Steve, hunched over on the floor with a sewing needle placed between his lips. 

“‘Till a buhrer lef’,” he mumbled through an amass of french fries, gulping them down. “Think it’s another cheeseburger.”

Steve peered up at him, jumpsuit draped over his knee. He’d been sitting there for the past thirty minutes with his brows furrowed in concentration, hand sewing on the Ghostbuster patches onto the shoulders of their costumes. “S’cold though, ain’t it?”

He squinted at Steve with a small pout that said he knew Steve was just making excuses. “So heat it up,” he grumbled, grabbing another lone fry, throwing it at Steve’s face, who drowsily flinched from the projectile.

“Dooon’t, you’re gonna get grease everywhere,” he held the fry between his fingers, pushing aside the jumpsuit. He jabbed the sewing needle through the sticker part of the brown-threaded spool, shimmying his way next to Bucky, leaning into his side. “...sure you don’t want it?”

Bucky bit into the fry, leaving the latter half still in Steve’s fingers. “Mm, thanks,” he said. “I ate all of the other four, Steve. M’sure.”

"That’s gross,” his nose scrunched at Bucky as he glanced at the wet, uneaten bit he’d left, shifting to pinch it by the very end. He threw it at the table, wiping his hand on Bucky’s shirt. “I’m fine, Buck. Coffee gets me full nowadays.”

Pushing the bag of loose fries off his lap, Bucky stood. “Whatever y’say,” he tip-toed over the cluttered floor, his silhouette reflected in the black television screen that was now rolling the end credits. “Any preference for the next one?” He asked over his shoulder, pressing Eject on the DVD player.

“Can’t watch Bladerunner without The Thing, you know that,” he teasingly smirked, eyes briefly darting towards the fries as he bit the skin of his noticeably dry lower lip. 

“Right, it’s tradition,” he wiped the disc on his t-shirt before popping it into its case. Bucky glanced around at the scattered DVDs. “Where is it, anyways?” He whirled around to face Steve, who was back by his jumpsuit, holding the spool of thread. 

“Oh, actually — I lent it to Sam a while back,” he smiled sheepishly, shrugging. Bucky glanced at the ceiling while sliding his phone from his jean pocket and tossing the DVD onto the growing pile, unlocking the screen with both hands and opening his chat with Sam.

 **Me** \- 11:23 AM  
Busy?

Steve frowned, tying the knot through the small silver needle. “It’s not that important, we can — “

As his phone buzzed immediately, Bucky shushed Steve’s protest without looking up from the screen.

 **Steve’s Dumb Roommate** \- 11:24 AM  
Maybe.

 **Me** \- 11:24 AM  
We need The Thing can I come over

“Did you ever change his name like I asked?” Steve pulled the threaded needle upwards through the patch, reaching his arm above his head.

“‘Course,” Bucky flicked his thumbs across the screen.

 **Steve’s Dumb Ex-Roommate** \- 11:25 AM  
Right now? Wait, what thing?

Resting the needle through a small string of fabric, he looked at Bucky with puffed cheeks. “Show me.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” he raised his brows at him.

“No.”

“I’m hurt, Steve,” Bucky continued fiddling with his buzzing phone as he let out a fake sniffle. “Wounded.”

 **Me** \- 11:25 AM  
I’ll be quick

 **Steve’s Dumb Ex-Roommate** (✈) - 11:26 AM  
Hold on, you’re serious? 

Bucky was already grabbing his jacket off the arm of the couch with one hand, the other balancing the phone as he texted again, Steve raising his brows.

 **Me** \- 11:26 AM  
On my way

“Won’t be too long, Steve,” he pulled a navy blue baseball cap over his growing hair and shuffled across the living room again, leaning to kiss Steve on the forehead.

“Okay Buck,” Steve ran his thumb over his gruffy cheek, dimples forming as he grinned shy. “Hey, uh… we’re outta Cherry Coke.”

Already halfway to the door, Bucky groaned. “Anything for you, buddy,” he said, turning the knob and stepping into the hall. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” he called as Bucky slammed the door shut.

* * *

Bucky had only just opened the door when a lingering smell had hit him. He slowly pushed it closed with a light click before shrugging off his jacket and tucking the blue-and-orange DVD case in the crook of his elbow. Quietly, he walked to the kitchen, peering around the corner to see Steve, sitting on the countertop hunched over what was left of a now-warm leftover cheeseburger, taking quick, successive bites to finish it off.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky whispered, Steve’s neck craning with a hitch of his breath. He put a hand over his chest, hastily setting the wrapper down next to him.

“God, you scared me. Thought you were gonna be gone longer.”

* * *

(notes)

  
-They watch the thing and Steve makes Mcready joke because Bucky looks like Kurt Russell.  
-They finish their cotumes after a lot of long nights.  
-They get snacks and drinks for their room.

-Day 0 they drive to New Jersey. Show them packing everything and Steve goes over everything multiple times.

-They leave earlier in the day, stopping at Denny’s to get breakfast first. It feels a little awkward being back at that Denny’s, not being there since “that day” all those years ago, but they laugh about it now. At the Denny’s, Steve has pancakes. He eats them all, eats a lot of sides and drinks all his coke.

-They play one of their car games when driving to NJ. They do I spy then a question game when they aren’t spying anything good.

-They get to the hotel and check in. Get up to their room, bring their luggage in and Bucky is actually feeling a bit nervous. 

-Bucky wants to change into something more comfortable and not the clothes he’d been wearing since yesterday (layered jackets, gross jeans and a long sleeved thermal). He puts on a t-shirt and stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom. He’s looking at his arms (both have some scarring. There are marks from the burns and a few raised lines from cuts. His left one has a large, faded pink kelodial scar running down the length of his inner forearm) and Steve comes behind him. Bucky says nevermind, I can’t wear this but Steve grabs his hand. Steve tells him if there was any place where he’s least likely to get judged, it’s here. Bucky listens to him and keeps the shirt on, but brings a hoodie (the grey one) just in case.

-They drive to the con to pick up their badges. There’s already a lot of people and the line is a good size. It’s in a ballroom area. As they’re in line, he sees Steve look behind them, hearing a very loud, very familiar voice. It’s Pietro with Wanda, yapping to her about some comic he’d just read. He’s dressed pretty casual but has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. They talk and Pietro says they’re competing in the costume contest, they should come see, blah blah. Bucky boasts about how Steve’s been working hard on their costumes too. Wanda tells them congratulations by the way.

-After they get their badges, they just loiter around a bit. Some people are already in costume. Bucky’s holding Steve’s hand and he starts holding it tighter. Steve rubs his arm, asks if he’s okay. Bucky’s just excited but also still doubtful about his scars. He feels like everyone’s staring at him (they’re not) and puts on the jacket.

-The game room is already open. It’s a large room, split into two sections. One half is the board games and other is consoles and games like DDR, Taiko drums, House of the dead, etc. Games are all free. They play something.

-Later that night, they pick up something locally (probably just pizza) and end up playing games in their room (cards against humanity maybe).

-Before going to sleep, they’re flipping through channels and Alien: Covenant is on Starz. Steve is laying his head on Bucky’s chest, trying to rest as Bucky starts going on a tangent about how the only real Alien movies are Alien and Aliens, and all the rest are dead to him, like Planet of the Apes. Steve groans, whines “Buuuucky, stop being a nerd for just a second, okay”. Bucky says sorry, runs his hand through Steve’s hair but then a few minutes later, he’s again pointing out all the flaws. Steve shoves his hand over his mouth.

**DAY 1**

-Bucky wakes up first. He struggles to grab his phone and checks the time. It’s only 6AM. He tries to close his eyes and go back to sleep but after half an hour of no luck, he carefully shifts Steve off him. He makes coffee and pulls out his Dallas costume that he’d hung up, stroking his fingers over the embroidered patch of the jacket.

-He eventually hears Steve waking up. He throws himself back down next to Steve, grinning. Steve says he’s so cute, how he’s so excited. He asks what time it is and then tells Bucky to go get dressed, he has a surprise for him.

-Bucky says he’s going to take a shower then peers out from the bathroom, tells Steve he probably needs one too. Steve narrows his eyes at him and then Bucky says come here. Transition to next part.

-Bucky also convinces Steve to dress up that day. He’s dressed as Anakin but he tells Bucky he feels dumb because he’s not threatening in any way.

-They drive to the convention and try to find parking. There’s a lot of cars and people there already.

-They get into the convention center and look around. Steve has a backpack on (the one Bucky used before to store all those photos and letters), but when Bucky asked about it, he just says its clothes to change into later. He tells Bucky he wants to go to the artist alley first and drags him over there.

-As they’re walking to the artist alley, they pass a section of tables for comic book artists. Steve says “oh wait” and takes off the backpack. He unzips it and Bucky sees that its full to the brim of comics. “Jesus, Steve.” he says as Steve looks at him with a smirk. He pulls out a Fantastic Four comic and walks over to Bryan Hitch’s booth (he worked on Cap).

-They browse around the artist alley more and as Steve is chatting up someone he met in school, Bucky wanders off towards the dealers hall. As he’s looking at a booth full of statues (he keeps eyeing that one xenomorph statue), he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around to see Sam. They catch up and talk for a bit. Sam asks where Steve is and he says he’s somewhere, been trying to get signatures from all the comic artists and is talking up all the people in artist alley. Sam comments on Bucky’s costume, says how he actually looks like Tom did. They get into an argument over something.

-They eventually find Steve and he hugs Sam. Sam says he likes the costume and Steve scrunches his nose at him. The three of them walk around for a bit. They go back towards the dealers room. Bucky finds a facehugger plush. Says, “Hey, steve. Look.” and then starts screaming at the booth.

-Eventually they break apart from Sam because it’s already time for the meet and greet. As they’re walking over, a girl stops Bucky for his photo, calling out “Dallas”. Bucky gets excited. Steve raises his eyebrows at him, smirking, says “See. I told you. You’re appreciated here, alien boy”.

-Bucky meets Tom. He has him sign the inside of the jacket and he asks “Is this mine?”. He’s only at the con for that day, so the photo ops are also then. They move off to the side, to a set up backdrop. Bucky says “wait one second” as he turns to Steve, pulling the facehugger from the plastic shopping bag. He asks Tom if he can act scared as he puts the toy over his face, arms in the air. Tom is mock screaming. The photographer snaps the shot and then prints the photo for him, bagging it up. Bucky goes back over to Steve, who’s standing behind the ropes, nearly in tears from laughing. He asks to see the photo and snorts, leaning into him as he laughs.

-They’re sitting in the halls at one point, resting. They’re watching people walk by, commenting on people. Steve had a sketchbook in his lap with a bingo sheet drawn on it, different names of characters in the squares. They’d mark off who they saw, eventually getting bingo.

-Steve eventually pulls out his phone and takes a photo of them. Bucky says they should bring the polaroid tomorrow.

-Steve gets a text from Sam. He asks if they want to go out for drinks with one of his friends. They meet up with him again and see Scott. Scott is one of Sam’s close friends. They’ve both met him briefly but he introduces himself again. Steve orders something to eat, probably like a burger and fries and ends up eating the whole thing pretty quick. Scott makes a joke about either how he wished he was so skinny and could eat whatever he wanted. Steve is visibly really bothered by that and both Sam / Bucky give Scott a warning look, Bucky shaking his head at him (only enough so he sees but not Steve).

-Later that night, Bucky shaves off his beard for his costume the next day. Steve pouts again.

-Bucky leaves the room for a second, maybe to get them drinks and he comes back to hearing Steve throwing up in the bathroom. It’s a bathroom with the sink outside and toilet behind a door. He sees the door isn’t closed and he opens it, seeing Steve forcing himself to throw up. Bucky asks if all those other times, if he made himself do it too. Steve nods. Bucky sits next to him and holds him, talking to him about what’s going on. I think at this point he’s starting to realize that Steve isn’t doing this stuff on purpose anymore.

**DAY 2**

-They wake up and get into Ghostbuster costumes. Bucky dresses as Venkmen. Steve dresses as Spengler. He wears his normal glasses and wears a wig. Bucky tells him how cute he looks and Steve gets all flustered.

-They go to eat at the hotel’s little buffet. They get some weird looks but one of the hotel workers smiles at them, saying something cheesy like “Yeaaah, Ghostbusters! My favorite movie!”.

-When they get to the convention, they get stopped for photos. Steve’s really nervous at first, holding Bucky’s hand and clinging to his arm but Bucky tells him its okay, just breathe. The first few photos people take of them, Steve is still holding his hand. Eventually he relaxes more and starts getting comfortable. 

-They run into Pietro and Wanda again. Pietro is dressed as Kick-ass and Wanda is Hitgirl. Pietro is talking to them about how he made everything from scratch and how that was a huge hobby of his. Bucky gloats about how Steve made all their props and Wanda starts suggesting they should enter the costume contest. They can’t do the skit portion but they’re still taking sign ups for the walk ons, or hall costume.

-Steve is putting up a fight, saying no no no. But Bucky agrees with her, says he worked so hard on them, why not? Pietro loops his arm around Steve’s and drags him towards the sign up room. They sign up for the walk on. Bucky tells him it’s fine, it’ll be fun. They get a judging spot for later that day.

-Steve looks up the rules for the contest online and reads over everything. He tries to organize the photos on his phone while they’re waiting in line. Bucky’s mom and sister call them. They didn’t know they were going to a convention. They get excited over their costumes.

-When talking to the judges, Steve has a ton of photos documenting the whole process of construction the props, altering the jumpsuits, styling the wig, etc. Shows the judges a photo of Bucky the day before with his full beard.

  
-When they compete, they end up winning best craftsmanship overall (this category is usually one of the last called, so they didn’t think they won at first).

-Later at night they stop by the karaoke room and see Peter Quill singing.

-They go to the con dance. Bucky dances like an idiot and Steve is just shaking his head, saying “No way”.

**DAY 3**

-It’s a slow start to their morning. They’re tired from the night before. They wake up too early and just lounge in bed, watching weird Sunday morning kids cartoons, laughing at things for no reason. 

-Bucky ends up wearing a shirt he’d bought that weekend, short sleeve again. He feels more comfortable after having a fun weekend. Steve wears one of his nicer button up shirts.

-They pack everything up and check out, packing up the car again. Bucky almost feels a tinge of sadness that they have to head home that day.

-Bucky ends up buying that alien queen sideshow collectible he’d been eyeing all week. He’s over at the booth with Steve and Steve sees him standing there, staring at it. He goes over and asks him how much it is, then asks Bucky how much he had. Says he can go in half and half with him.

-Bucky also buys the Gremlin soundtrack on vinyl.  
―

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2018 with someone cursed, but I really like this story too much not to post it here. :-/


	5. Stucky #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's family has always accepted Steve as one of their own. And when he confessed to them being something a little more than 'just friends', they were still overly accepting, even his step-dad. Sarah Rogers, however, was not. And despite portraying herself as the overly friendly, accepting of all, nonjudgmental nurse she tried to be, she shunned her own son for following his heart.
> 
> With his situation sketchy, and unsafe, at home, Steve moves in with Bucky and his family. The stress starts getting to Steve, and he finds a way to cope with the trauma he'd just been through, in a very unhealthy way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant. Pre-serum, pre-war (takes place in 1930's). They're both teenagers (17/18ish). 
> 
> TW: implied self harm. 
> 
> Characters mentioned: Bucky's family mostly (sisters, mom, dad), and Steve's mom.

** two birds **

* * *

His molars had begun to ache, and, that’s when Bucky had noticed _just_ how tense his jaw had become; was almost to the point of locking, giving him a damn near headache. Well, that wasn’t the sole source of why he was starting to press two fingers to his temples. His adoptive ma started seeing this guy, three years ago— _technically_ , he was his step-dad now, but that was a hard pill to swallow. Been eleven years now since his biological dad passed away, but he still wasn't ready to welcome some new guy into the house, definitely not one that he was expected to address as his father. 

This guy (George was his name, but preferred to go by “sir” more often than not) brought with him the most obnoxious kids Bucky had ever met, into their once quiet home. Was giving him major flashbacks to his orphanage days— lots of bratty little kids running around at their own free will, roaming the halls and violently screaming at all hours of the night. He didn’t get proper sleep for years.

Okay, let’s try this again, Bucky started giving himself a pep talk before he was knocking on the door to his own bedroom. He almost felt like an idiot (key word: almost) for knocking before entering his own room, and, hey, he couldn’t help himself when a loud, breathy huff of nervous laughter left his lips. 

Knocking on his own door had become tradition at this point, something him and Steve had established since he moved in so they didn’t walk in on each other… half dressed or, rather more realistically, because this already happened: dancing around the room with a pillow (dressed in a suit jacket and tie) and horribly singing along to _If I didn’t Care by The Ink Spots_. He didn’t feel hardly as stupid about knocking as he did in the beginning, but, the awkwardness was still there.

“Stevie, you in there?” the words were all too quiet, all too… drowned out by his youngest sisters, Charlotte and Jane, screeching from downstairs, fighting over god knows what. Bucky waited, one moment, two moments, he mentally counted. He was starting to second guess himself if the blond kid was even in there, in _their_ room. He’d finally given up and started turning the handle, only to not be able to step into said room.

The bottom edge of the door (lightly) collided with one of the many boxes that Steve still hadn’t unpacked. It’s not like he even brought a ton of things with him, it’s just… rather, Steve hadn’t bothered to unpack any of his boxes, even after Bucky’s near daily pleas. Hell, he was still storing his sweaters in them and Bucky’d offered to do it for him, but he always acted like he thought the brown boxes made for a great room decor and shushed him away.

They didn’t. You see, Bucky had this light grey, sort of navy blue theme going on, so ugly ass brown cardboard boxes were not high up on the appealing chart. He’d stare at those damn boxes all night long while trying to drift off into a somewhat peaceful slumber, his fingers twitching with the urge to perform a midnight deep cleaning. Tried to distract himself and focus on Steve tucked against his side. Count every strand of hair on the top of his head, and when he’d finished with that, move onto his freckles too, tune in to the reassurance that he was still breathing and safe in his arms. 

He shook his head, first a little irritated, but then he sighed. He was pretty used to cramped environments, again dating back to the orphanage — six beds per room, and everyone shared a bunk, which meant little to no space for alone time. Lines curved down the halls for the bathrooms in the morning; sometimes Bucky opted to brush his teeth in the shower. Little bit of ingenuity never hurt, actually saved him quite a bit of time that he could instead spend outside throwing a baseball for… no one in particular to catch, he just really wanted to see how hard he could throw it.

Ever since moving from Indiana though, he hadn’t had to room up with anyone except for (he shuddered at the memory) the time that him, their mom and Rebecca all squished into a tiny worn-down studio sized apartment, and had to practically sleep on top of each other. Guess that was one plus about George; they lived in a fairly decent-sized house now, plenty of room to stretch your arms and get away from all the chaos if needed.

Wasn’t that it was a bad thing though. Wasn’t that at all in the slightest. This was the absolute best case scenario for him and Steve. That’s the whole reason his place was a mess, and it was a good reason at that. But, sharing a space with a whole other person when his room could hardly fit his own small person to begin with, got a bit difficult at times. 

Yeah, you’d figure for a house of about fifteen hundred square feet, he’d luck out with a decently sized room, maybe even an attached bathroom too and a cool fish tank like he always asked for. Nah, instead he got booted to the closet-sized room at the end of the hall because his sisters yelled and yelled until they got their way (they always did) and snagged the nice “guest room”. Painted the walls pink and everything, which totally ruined it for Bucky. 

Another thing though, was that Steve didn’t exactly take care for his obsessive compulsiveness. Bucky knew it bordered on hysterical, but he had to keep every piece of clothing in order: he organized first by color, darks to lights, then garment, and sometimes by what occasion they were worn during. Fancy, casual, and so on. He always made sure all his books were lined up and straight on his shelf before flicking off the lights, dusted his room more than any housewife ever did. 

It drove him a bit nuts, to say the least, but that’s just the way his brain worked, and he didn’t try to suppress that side of him. Bucky’d always considered himself a bit of a neat freak, and he tried to pick the more positive side of looking at things; maybe having a bit of mess would be good he reasoned, but… he still wasn’t happy about it.

Bucky, with a hearty shove, pushed his way past the empire of boxes to reveal what he was expecting— a vacant room with a semi-made bed and Steve’s pajamas folded atop his pillow. Great, he’d been talking to himself, again.

Four months it’d been now; Bucky knew because he kept a little calendar with him always, stuffed it into his pocket and marked each passing day with a red pen (he reached into his pants pocket, brushing over the worn edges of the paper). His mom, God bless her actual heart that he swore was made of pure gold, had let Steve move in with them. George, he wasn’t incredibly well-off or anything of the sorts, but they didn’t have to worry about money like they once did. Weren’t scrounging for pennies and trying to make a single loaf of bread last an entire week. 

Though, Bucky still picked up three jobs, always looking for more hours. After his dad passed away, although he was still pretty much a baby himself, he became the definite man of the household. Looked out for his mother, even at her wits end and when she was deathly ill. He knew, deep in his heart, he’d kill anyone who hurt Rebecca. Never felt a pain as crippling as when they were separated and he never thought he’d ever get to the day of seeing her face again.

Bucky was always a high achiever and got good grades in school, for the most part. He was working his ass off to build a somewhat sizable amount of savings so, someday, him and Steve could find their own shack somewhere and not have to worry about relying on anyone else for help. Well, along with his funds to get a humble abode with Steve, he’d always been secretly saving for Steve’s college fund. Bucky wasn’t particularly interested in going to college himself — he’d considered studying photography and becoming one of those guys that worked for National Geographic, taking neat shots of birds and visiting places he’d never even heard of. He didn’t mind working the odd job though, as long as he knew Steve had some place to sleep, and something to eat.

Now, Steve was the one that, since a very young age, always pined over going to NYU. Wanted to go into fine arts, he always said. Get his bachelor and become a (famous, Bucky always added) painter someday. Bucky knew he could do it, that was why he worked so damn hard to make sure he could fund it. All by himself. He was too fucking talented _not_ to go further in his art career.

Steve’s only family, yeah, they had been creating a fund for his future higher education ever since he was born on July fourth, 1918 (of course, the most patriotic person Bucky’d ever met would be born on the goddamn fourth of July). But, you see, Steve’d gotten out of a rather — sticky situation wasn’t maybe the right wording. Abusive? More fitting. 

Bucky knew how outsiders saw and judged people like them; disgust, mockery, warning their children to never turn out like those ‘good for nothing fairies’. God, they’d been called every word under the sun and even some new ones, which Bucky’d give them points for creativity at least. His mother would always pull on the back of their collars before they’d head out, warning them with her usual spiel, “ _Now, be careful out there. Don’t let anyone come to believe you two are_ …”

“ _Courting_?” Bucky always teased, which resulted in a hefty thump to the back of his skull.

“ _No hugging in public eye. Steve, I know you’re probably not aware of how much you do this, but please be wary how much you touch James. Hand holding, holding onto each other,_ ” she’d sternly wave her finger, “ _Never let your guard down. You ever feel unsafe, come back here. Do not go to the police about it. You ever get hurt? You need to tell us_.”

“ _Okay, alright, ma_.”

There were a few rules they had while indoors too; no one cared if they normally lounged about on the couch together, or playfully flirted and joked around while at the dinner table. Everyone was used to it. Only times they weren’t allowed to fully be themselves was when relatives were over. It was, of course, for their own safety. His mom always advised them to check where they were standing before showing affection for each other. Never stand too close to a window, no matter if the curtains were drawn or not.

Winifred had quite the talk with George once they had moved to the stage of hunting for new houses. Bucky overheard parts of the conversation, and from what he could recall, went something along the lines of, “ _It’s not a choice, James has told me that over and over again. We don’t see anything wrong with it in this household_.”

He remembers sitting in the back of their Chrysler. It was a humid summer afternoon, the sun glaring down, making his collar stick to his neck. He was fanning himself off with some piece of paper he’d found lying around on the floor (looked like an opened envelope, was torn but it did the job). Only the three of them were in the car, driving away from the utter most hustle of the city. Sometimes they’d do this; family outings without Steve or his sisters even, so Bucky and George could get a bit of “father-son” bonding time. Bucky hated those outings. 

“ _So, James? Seein’ anyone special_?” is how he started the conversation and it felt so painfully rehearsed that he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. His mom had caught him though, meeting him in the rear view mirror.

“ _What’s this about_?” he all but groaned. George cleared his throat, gesturing to Winnie vaguely. “ _Honey, he wants to get to know you more. That’s all_.”

He met his mother’s eyes again, for a second and then third time, like he was checking if it was safe. He didn’t part his lips until she gave him a signal, pushing him forward with a slight nod of her head. Even then he hesitated, since he felt like George didn’t quite deserve to know about all of his business. But it was necessary for the household to function smoothly.

“ _Well? Go on, answer him_.”

“ _Yeah, actually. That, uh_ —” he started fidgeting nervously with his hands “ _Steve. You remember him? Dopey blond, short. Over all the time but can never stay for dinner_?”

“ _Yes. Good kid_.” There was a silence building between the three of them and the tension felt so thick you couldn’t even cut with a katana. He spoke up, almost making Bucky jump in his seat, “ _You treat him well_?”

“ _Yes, George_.”

“ _He treats you well_?”

“ _I mean, he can be an assho_ —” he sucked his cheeks at his mother’s sigh. “ _A, punk_ ,” he hastily corrected, “ _from time to time. But, yeah. He’s real nice_.”

Another couple of minutes without talking before George was again, attempting to lead the conversation. “ _You love this boy_?”

Bucky found himself looking out the window, feeling the warm breeze in his hair. “ _I do_.”

“ _And, he loves you_?”

“ _Well, I sure hope so_.”

“ _Then, that’s all that matters_.”

Bucky was blessed that, within this family, the Barnes-Proctor (and somewhat Rogers) mishmash that they were, he was never forced into a specific mindset. Not like his birth parents ever forced him to be a certain way either, except for his dad who really advocated that he’d enlist. His relationship with Steve wasn’t seen as any different than, say, if Rebecca were to have a mister. Of course, speaking only hypothetically because she was too young to be seeing anyone (at least, in Bucky’s eyes).

Something else that was always made clear, for everyone in their family — religion was never forced, or pushed down anyone’s throat. He’d read the bible, or rather, skimmed through it. His family attended service weekly and he did have a pretty nifty suit he’d wear every Sunday, but his mom always wanted him to keep an open mind. If he’d decided to stop practicing at an older age, that would never be held against him. This was another viewpoint they couldn’t always openly express. Relatives thought it weird and they were often referred to as the far too “progressive” side of the family.

“ _It’s better to see both sides of an argument than just the one, James_ ,” he’d remember his mom saying while bandaging up a scraped knee one afternoon.

For Steve though… poor kid wasn’t so lucky. Steve’d figured out at a young age that he really did prefer a bit of fuzz to his peach. Thirteen years old was when Steve Rogers kissed Bucky Barnes for the first time. The kid was, honestly, shaking in his boots. So nervous that Bucky had to haul the idiot onto a closed garbage can, holding either side of his hips to steady him. He started coughing and patting his chest, kicked his legs a bit to get down, but Bucky took his wrists into both his hands. Made him stay as he let Steve make his move, and allowed himself to experimentally kiss him back. Wasn’t until Steve was fifteen and Bucky was sixteen that Steve really confessed how hard he’d been pining over him, for ages. Bucky didn’t mind though, he needed the time to get ready for what was about to become the center of his life.

Steve, he was raised in a brutally strict Catholic household. Two men lusting after each other was held on the same level as two men simply loving each other— unacceptable and not tolerated. His mom had him pulled out of elementary school midway through because she said he’d been “spending too much time with James and wasn’t focusing on his schoolwork”. He was placed in some stupid private academy (Steve didn’t consider it stupid, but Bucky sure did); at least they let him attend George Washington high like a normal kid with Bucky and the few friends they’d managed to find. 

His parents (rather, single parent now) were Irish immigrants. Came to America hardly knowing a lick of English and managed to teach themselves the language. Steve still spoke Gaelic at home, Sarah more often than not exclusively speaking it when Bucky was around. His parents were very high-achievers. Overly hard-working, with his dad in the army and mom a nurse. 

_“I only want what’s best for my son_ ,” Sarah always said as an excuse, making the situation only ten times worse.

Bucky had known since they were kids that something beyond simple discipline went on in the household, if those peculiar bruises ever meant anything, but Steve was good at being elusive and dancing around the core of the subject, when he wanted to (which was always). It didn’t take a genius to pick up on all the clues, especially the ones Steve tried hardest to hide. At first he’d thought his friend had only been embarrassed about his quality of life or lack of material possessions but eventually he came to realize Steve didn’t want him over because of the awful looming aura of his unpleasant mother.

It had only been after Sarah had caught them in a ‘compromising position’ that he’d been able to convince the blond to finally take action. Bucky was eternally grateful for his mother, who seemed to love the shorter boy almost as much as he did. One miserable evening they had been enveloped in each others arms, waiting for the relief of sleep to hit, only to be rudely barged in upon. Not only had it been a set rule for them not to share a bed but Steve had apparently been on thin ice already.

Bucky had to keep his mother from storming over there once she’d heard the story and how it had ended with a very upset Bucky having to leave a very distraught Steve to deal with an extremely obtuse woman. Steve not showing up to school the next two days had been the last straw. Planning the move had taken longer than he’d liked but the blond boy was stubborn, and probably more than a bit embarrassed, though Bucky couldn’t for the life of him understand why. 

The actual move had taken the better part of an entire weekend, and had mostly been handled without hassle. In fact it wasn’t until Steve went to say goodbye that there were really any issues, but Bucky had made sure that both he and his mom were present to keep things from escalating too quickly. Now, things were starting to get better, or so he thought. He always did have this nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite shush away.

A slender hand tapping his shoulder had Bucky ripped from his rapidly passing thoughts. “Boo!” 

Obviously it was Steve’s voice, he could recognize his voice from a mile away, could even recognize his hand by size and softness, but he still couldn’t help if he was a bit jumpy lately. And okay, maybe he did let out the quietest of shrieks, but he tried to drown out Steve’s laughter by firstly calming down his own damn breathing that he’d suddenly lost control over. Instinctually he wants to get upset about being caught off guard, and if it had been anyone else, he’d probably have decked them. 

“Steve!” He yells in both anger and joy. “I thought you were… never mind.” His distraught face quickly shifts to a content smile. Could be worse. “How long have you been home?” Normally it would have been a pointless question, but now that he was working so much and nearly finished his classes, their schedules didn’t quite mesh. 

“Not that long. You passed me on the way up here. I was starin’ at ya, trying to get your attention.” Steve was smiling in that goofy fashion Bucky’d grown to adore since they’d first met, nearly a decade ago; was all teeth, full dimples, lopsided, but he’d never seen anything else that quite got his heart racing like that, honestly.

“Okay, wiseass,” he huffs a little sigh and gives the other a gentle shove. They head to the kitchen together, having decided exactly two months ago that cooking could be a shared chore.

Eight PM might be a little late but Steve never seemed to mind waiting for him. It gave him time to finish up whatever work he had so he could spend the rest of the evening with his attention focused solely on Bucky and whatever it was they decided to do, which most evenings, admittedly, wasn’t too much.

Go figure Bucky was always tired (but never too tired to keep their small space as tidy as one could when someone refused to unpack) from working so much, but with Steve to help him get through his school work, things were working out pretty well. Honestly, he worried about all the empty time the other boy had while he worked but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. He was afraid that bringing it up might cause issues, and the last thing he wanted was for Steve to feel uncomfortable in their household. 

“‘m sorry,” his voice deflates a little but he continues to go about the business of sifting through every cupboard trying to decide what they should eat. He wasn’t even hungry, but if he didn’t eat now he’d just wake up grumpy in the morning. “Musta been lost in thought.”

“Whatcha thinkin’ so hard about?” Bucky could see from the corner of his eye Steve leaning over the kitchen counter, his chin pressed to his palms. He was watching him, head half-cocked and an eyebrow quirked.

“Nothing in particular, just, y’know… about stuff. And the future. And all these god damn boxes someone said they’d unpack.” He tried to maintain a straight face while collecting ingredients, eyes carefully set on the task to avoid looking at the other and letting a smile break face. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to it eventually,” he could hear Steve snort and it made him have to bite his tongue. Steve hummed, “Mm, what about the future?”

Bucky huffs and hands the other a potato peeler. If Steve was going to tease him he’d at least be put to work while doing it. “Like, school and stuff.” He shrugs. “Nothing too serious. I spend more time wondering about you than anything else in my life, so, what about you?”

Taking the peeler from him with a crinkle to his nose, he immediately began to fiddle and fidget and mess around with the tool; Bucky learned Steve always liked to play with things when he got nervous, usually the strings to a waistband or, occasionally, the straps to one of Bucky’s bags. “Wonderin’ what about me, James?” Steve hissed under his breath and Bucky could see a bubble of red forming on the tip of his thumb. Idiot.

He rolled his eyes a little, stopping what he’s doing just to help Steve run the small wound under cold water. Totally unnecessary and yet had to be done. “Well, what do you think? You can’t seriously be _that_ thick.” 

Wiggling out of his grip, Steve tugged his hand away, a half smirk filling out his face as he flicked his fingers at Bucky’s face, water droplets hitting the center of his cheek. “I ‘unno. You thinkin’ I’m pretty— cute?” 

The dark haired young man hisses and wipes some of the droplets from his face. “Maybe I did but I’m starting to think you’re just a little troublemaker.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” And with that statement, whatever the hell it even meant, Steve spun on the back of his heel to shimmy himself across the short counter, pawing for the small peeler. He turned back to him, flailing the kitchen instrument dangerously close to his own skin.

Just as Bucky approaches him to attempt to stop the flailing, grasping for the object that Steve failed to keep out of reach (Bucky was nearly a foot taller than him), Winifred pops into the kitchen. Having just woken up from a nap not too long ago, anticipating another late dinner, she greets them both with cheer and offers to help. Soon enough she shoo’s Bucky right out of the kitchen under the guise of encouraging him to bathe, then a few moments later Steve finds himself being coaxed into the living room, Charlotte and Jane immediately jumping on him with requests to “critique” their crude scribbles. 

When the meal is ready to be eaten, Winnie rings a bell to call everyone to the table. The seven of them (George was stuck late at work) sit together and have a rather mundane but low pressure conversation, something perhaps a bit foreign to their new houseguest if his squirms meant anything. Bucky’d grabbed his hand under the table, giving him a small squeeze.

As per usual for their new routine Bucky offers to do the dishes and Steve beats him to it. His mom puts on a nice record and lets the boys finish up in the kitchen, not soon after retiring back to bed. Rebecca strolled in and out to pester them occasionally but refused to help, not that they needed it. 

Slinging a yellow dish towel over his shoulder, Bucky shuffled to the opposite side of the kitchen to dry off the very last clean dinner plate from the night. Feeling a bony elbow poking into his side, he turned, Steve angling his head to look up at him. “Hey.”

He puts the dish away and folds the damp towel. “Long time no see,” he teases with a grin, “How’s it going?” Tucking the towel into a cupboard he shifts to lean against the counter. 

“I know. You miss me?” Steve took a step closer, the back of his palm gingerly running the length of Bucky’s forearm as he puffed out a timorous laugh. He was watching his own movements before he looked away and back at him. 

“Always. If I could carry you around in a backpack with me everywhere, I would.” 

“I mean, piggy backings always an option too, y’know.” Jesus, did he actually wink?

Bucky laughs, a bit caught off-guard but pleasantly so. “Guess that would be easier. Well, hop on, what’s stopping you?” He gestures Steve over with a familiar friendliness. 

“Right now?” Now it was Steve’s turn to look a bit shocked, his eyes widening with a softened chuckle. “Bend down, asshole. I can’t just jump up on you.”

With a roll of his eyes he does as asked, exaggerating the movement with a flourish, bowing his head and . He gets to a knee and says, “will you take my hand and be my awfully wedded wife?”

“It's _lawfully_ , Buck. And I ain't a girl,” Steve huffs before climbing on.

* * *

Now, sitting on the edge of his bed, Bucky was squinting at the overhead light was still on in his room, the bulb annoyingly flickering. They’d finally moved, at least the most offending boxes, out of the way and stacked them inside Bucky’s closet so he could have a bit more… peace of mind. A break from looking at those ugly things. Their curfew was supposed to be in bed by ten, lights out before midnight. Not like they always followed those rules, but, they loosely tried to stick to the schedule his mom had put in place. His parents were never super strict about it. 

Bucky’d been staring down at his lap for the past ten minutes; nothing particularly interesting about his lap per say, but, there wasn’t anything better he could do. Maybe read a book, but he wasn’t in the mood. Steve always preferred taking showers at night, always took too damn long though. His ears instinctively perked at the sound of his old door creaking open, slow and steady.

Steve’s figure was still half masqueraded, like he was nervously peeking in at him. He was wearing one of Bucky’s old cotton shirts; was a bit loose on him and hung off his shoulder ever-so-slightly, exposing the curves of his bones. “Hey Buck.” 

“Oh, cut it out, it’s been four months, why are you still acting so shy? You just like to keep me waiting huh?” To punctuate this he yawns, not purposefully, and waves the other over in an almost agitated manner. “C’mere. And turn the light off, so you don’t have to get back up.”

Steve still had a towel wrapped around his head. He tossed it aside into a wooden hamper, his damp bangs clinging to his forehead. “Is it really _so_ bad to feel—” Steve started drumming his fingers “shy, every now and then?”

Even though his brow creases and he’s thinking about a sassy retort he decides against teasing him too hard. Mostly, because he was too tired and more than ready for his newly christened and highly anticipated evening cuddles. Sometimes he felt like it was the only thing that got him through the long days.

“No, it’s not, of course it’s not. I guess I’m just a little impatient — I shouldn’t be, because we’re pretty damn lucky, but…”

“But?” Steve dragged out the word and Bucky could tell he was blatantly stalling. His eyes were darting away, timidly, and then, finally, the door closed behind him. He could hear a faint click of metal. Steve still remained standing there, inches away from Bucky and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He wasn’t sure what he was hesitating so hard about, but he sucked in his cheeks, tried to let the annoyance pass.

By this point Bucky was starting to feel aggravated, not at Steve _directly_ , just at the fact that something was up and he should have an idea about it but was, as was all too often it seemed, clueless. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that some conversations came so naturally while others were avoided, sometimes too obviously. Neither of them particularly wanted to keep secrets but it seemed like they both were.

“But— why don’t you just c’mere already? Am I supposed to get outta bed and beg on hands and knees?” 

Steve licked across his lips and again he was quirking his dark brows at Bucky, tauntingly. Like he was trying to challenge him. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate even though he was currently in one of the laziest moods. He pulls himself off of the bed with a small grunt of protest before taking the few steps it took to close the gap between them. Not only does he flick the light switch, but a moment later he moves as if to hug the other but instead scoops him right up to then return to the warmth of bed. With a hefty thump he settles down and cradles Steve in his arms, cooing and rocking him slightly like the manbaby he was.

“Better?”

“Better.” he echos, and though Bucky could only see a sliver of his face, he could tell he was smiling, hear a faint chuckle. The room was dark, but not pitch black. The street lights from outside cast elongated branches across the walls. 

Steve shifted around under the sheets until he found a position he was comfortable in, in Bucky’s arms. His nose was buried into the crook of his neck. He could feel the vibrations of the words against his skin, eliciting cold goosebumps under his hot breath. “Your ma ain’t gonna get mad at us for,” he paused, “doing this, right?”

As a somewhat automatic gesture he rubs Steve’s back a little bit, traveling in circular motions, feeling the unnatural curve of his spine. “Is that what’s bothering you? You seem a little spacy today.” 

“Nah, it’s not. S’on my mind a lot though,” he sniffled. “Feels like— someday they’re all gonna snap, realize they’ve been thinking crazy and then it’s gonna…” 

“Get worse? It won’t, my ma isn’t like that. She really seems to care about us, y’know? She never shuts up about you.”

Steve lightly chuckled at that, but it quickly died down. “I thought my mom was like that too, though,” his nails were gliding up the back of Bucky’s neck, rooting in the curls of his hair. 

“Hmm,” he hums and stays quiet a few moments, not sure how to respond to that appropriately. It was hard to focus with all the gentle sensations. “I guess that’s a good point, but, I don’t think your mom would have let me stay with you if things’d been the other way around. If, if you feel like it’s not safe here—” 

“It’s not that I don’t feel like it’s safe here,” he stroked his way through Bucky’s hair before his grip tightened and he pulled, rougher than he seemed to have intended to if the small hiss between his teeth means anything. But he doesn’t try to do anything about it, never does, always just glad to be close. “I just don’t know if we can trust anyone anymore, ’cause if someone blabs or it gets out… The kids at school are already talkin’ shit, Buck.” 

That puts a frown on his face and makes him tense up a bit; he can imagine the things being said, has never really listened to anything they said before because it didn’t matter. Except it did matter, because they could get into a lot of trouble if the wrong person decided to get too nosy. For a few moments he basks in unwanted paranoia about their friend group and prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that none of them are the type to cause strife over something so harmless.

“Do… do they know you’re living here already?” They hadn’t told anyone yet but Dottie had figured it out on her own, from stopping by Steve’s house one day only to be cursed at in gaelic. “I mean, there’s a good reason for it, if I could I’d beat the tar out of anyone brave enough to make a comment to you, but I think that might make things worse.”

“I don’t think they know I’m living here, but, you know how quickly things spread in this town. People see me walking back home with you, a-and they talk,” his voice cracked with a yawn. “ _Please_ , I’m _begging_ you, don’t get yourself in any trouble. You imagine what would happen if the principal showed up at your house and saw me here? Talk to my mom, a-and...”

“Shush,” He can tell Steve is getting upset over it and that just makes him upset that he can’t fix it. It’s beyond frustrating that their best option is to ‘just ignore things’ when he could be doing something about it, anything. “I won’t, I promise. We just gotta keep playing it cool and ignore as much of it as possible.” This brings him to the grim realization Steve has a whole year ahead of him without Bucky around. He can only hope their friends are true to their words and stick with the blond.

“Maybe you could transfer somewhere else for your last year, there’s another school in the district that’s only a bit further away.” 

Steve made a throaty noise, like he was scoffing, but it came out harsher than he’d meant it to. “Bucky. I ain’t fuckin’ doing this whole switching schools thing again. Don’t you think people’d be looking at me weird if some skinny ass kid that sticks out like a sore fuckin’ thumb turns up out of nowhere? S’not like this is a huge district or anything.” 

Bucky frowns yet again and is glad it’s dark enough that Steve can’t call him out for his sulking. He’s starting to get a headache from furrowing his eyebrows so much. “Good point.” Then it’s back to silence, a bit uncomfortable because he wants to say something but can’t think of a single potentially comforting thing. For lack of a better idea he just hugs Steve closer. They both lay there in the quiet darkness until it becomes a silence that stretches out longer than either of them are comfortable with, but Bucky can’t break it because he can’t think of anything to say. He’s worried the next thing out of his mouth is going to either cause the other annoyance or anxiety.

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice projected like a firework; was like an unbidden static and all too loud in his ears. 

“Yeah?”

There was a sigh Steve stilled, or at least, tried to, before exhaling shakily through his nostrils. The hand that previously had been resting on the nape of his neck traveled down his arm, his fingers lacing with Bucky’s. He could see, through the small traces of light that shone across Steve’s sullen face, his heavily lidded eyes watching him. He couldn’t figure out what his exact intent was with that look, if he was simply exhausted, like Bucky very much was, or if it was something… more.

At the end of that thought, Steve’s lips were being dragged across the sharp definition of Bucky’s jawline, scraping against the stubble that he’d really been needing to take care of for the past few days. He placed a kiss to the dip of his chin, side of his cheek, ghosting and hovering over the only place he hesitated. 

“You think we’re being stupid? Be honest with me.”

“... No.” Honestly, he didn’t want to admit it even to himself, but it did seem a bit foolish to try to be something so widely unacceptable. He didn’t regret his feelings, or having the opportunity to have them returned at least somewhat (who could be sure if Steve even really liked him, for all Buck knew this was a pity party and the cake was made just for him). “No, I mean, I don’t think it’s wrong to love someone.” 

“James Buchanan Barnes,” it was like Steve’d just gotten all the air socked out of him; he sounded like he was panting, and he swore his naturally pale skin was changing color— though the light was nothing less than dim, he could see reddish pink blotches unevenly spreading across his cheeks.

The tone isn’t particularly harsh but Bucky flinches nonetheless, a bad habit that came from people only ever using his full name if he was about to get in deep shit. It was like he couldn’t even see the blue in his eyes, only white as he stared back at him, petrified and halting on a response. When he did speak, Bucky had to strain to hear him; he was quieter than the silence that settled in the room. “you love me?”

A small chuckle pops out from between his chapped lips before he can stop himself. He realizes quickly it is definitely not the right time for giggles. “Of course, you idiot. Do you see me putting this much time and effort into anyone else?” 

“I mean, you don’t really hang out with anyone else, ‘cause you’re _kinda_ a loser.”

“Harsh, Steve. Which one of us gets beat up every other day again…?”

“Honestly, I just want to get your attention.”

“There have to be healthier ways to do that. Like, maybe, something a little less dramatic.” Bucky swore the second he said that, Steve’s eyes closed, like it was some kind of habit. Habit he’d never seen before, mind you. 

“Works though, don’t it?” Now he was sounding all too cocky, same tone he’d heard Steve get countless times before when he knew he was about to lose a fight, but still couldn’t bare to give up.

As much as he likes Steve, hearing ‘the tone’ used on him only spurs him to take action. They never actually fought, but sometimes he let Steve put him in a headlock and pretended he couldn’t get out of it. He swore Steve hated it more than actually getting beat up. “If you wanna call your game a work in progress I won’t shame you. Hell, I’ve never even fake kissed a girl.” 

As if he’d never had the thought before he realizes just how close their faces are, is overtly aware of how warm they both are, and how they are absolutely alone without (for now, at least) any worry. So far as he knew the entire rest of the household was asleep by now and even if they weren’t there was no logical reason, short of a fire or bombs, that anyone would burst into their room unannounced. He’s suddenly the most nervous he’s ever been in his life but he figures it’s now or never, even though Steve has yet to say anything real in response to his casual confession.

He had to have faith in his bout of confidence, so he tests the waters with a few shy caresses; his hands even shake a little bit and he can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. But when he’s not swatted away for running a thumb along his jaw, or his fingertips over the tender flesh of his throat, he’s convinced it’s meant to be. Surely Steve was brave enough to say something if he wasn’t into it. The caress continues with his knuckles tracing along a collarbone that is much too prominent, then down his sternum. It’s weird to think but he realizes just then exactly how much he enjoys sharing everything. 

With a mock arrogance, feigning that he’d done this a hundred times before and was a born natural swooner (which, not to stroke his own ego, but was true in some ways), he boldly went where neither of them had ever attempted to explore before. His gruff lips met Steve’s, very obviously unexperienced, taking reign on the unfamiliar situation. He could feel him quivering underneath him, his entire body was.

Steve seems to freeze at first but a few moments later his hands began twitch, unsure of what to do, where to go, what he can touch. He tries to copy some of Bucky’s gentleness but it was clear he found it a bit hard to focus. This just encourages Bucky, who in a burst of energy, gets a little more aggressive than intended. He sloppily tries to intertwine their fingers with one hand while the other tugs at the bottom of the shirt.

“Buck,” Steve was breathing into his mouth. Bucky had to force himself to blink, twice and then three times, before he could process Steve speaking to him, calling his name out to him, lost in the possessive heat that was radiating from Steve. “ _Bucky_ ,” and then fingers were brushing back the hair of his arm, scratching to hold his wrist in place.

Though he wants to pull his hand free immediately, he doesn’t. After inhaling a slow, deep breath he relaxes somewhat. He hadn’t even realized just how tightly wound he’d been, enough so that he had a cramp threatening to flare up in his foot. He tries and somewhat fails to keep disappointment from his face; not for being chastised, but rather for screwing things up already. Being mad at himself for not having more self control only makes it easier to be mad at Steve for, well, being Steve.

“What?” It comes out a lot sharper than he meant but couldn’t be taken back so he just huffs. Great, now he was going to pout, even though he was trying so very hard not to feel nearly as hurt as he did. Subconsciously his fingers digs into his hip a bit but he doesn’t try to get his hand free. “Steve, if you don’t like me, just say so— You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna, y’know.”

“It’s,” Steve’s forehead is creased, and everything about him reads off as uncomfortable; the way his knee’s nudged in between Bucky’s thighs, his death grip pleading Bucky to move away from that specific spot, the flush that had grown to Steve’s ears. Steve threw his head back with a shake.

“It’s _what_ , say _something_ ,” It comes out in a whisper. For once in his life Steve Rogers seemed incapable of using his words. “Damn it Rogers, what is it?”

“You’re— ow.” Steve lets out a hiss and, it was Bucky’s turn to be frozen this time, not sure what he did wrong. He wrangles his hand free from Steve’s grip and realizes there’s a dampness to his fingertips; upon inspection in the low light he’s rather horrified to discover it’s blood. 

“Who— who the _fuck_ did this to you?”

“N-no one.”

“Bullshit, Rogers. You were jus’ talking about kids talking shit,” His voice is crackling with barely contained emotion, and he still feels frozen in place. “You’re gonna tell me who did this to you.”

“I told you— it’s no one.”

“ _Steve_.”

“I’m— fuck,” Steve takes this moment of distraction as an opportunity to wiggle his way out from under Bucky, scurrying to the door with a loud thump (he’d tripped on the corner of the rug he kept telling Bucky to move). His eyes kept track of where Steve was going, knew for sure when he heard the lock click to the bathroom two doors down. 

Had he not been shell-shocked to the core trying to process how things had gone from almost decent to the crapper so quickly— and quite literally at that, once he realizes where Steve has run off to— he wouldn’t have let him even leave the bed. His head reels and he feels sick, almost like he might puke, but he’s much too concerned to be frozen in place for long. Just long enough for the bathroom door to be shut and locked. If it weren’t so late he’d try to jimmy it open but the door itself already creaks enough as is.

Still, he tries to quietly jostle the handle open anyway, which doesn’t work at all. “Steve—” Again he has no words but at least the concern in his voice is bright as day. “Hey, can we try to be adults? And talk about this.” His voice is as low as he can manage while hopefully still being loud enough for the blond to hear.

He presses an ear to the old door; pipes are groaning, forcibly, like the water was turned on too fast and he can hear splashing, matched alongside Steve’s labored breathing. One cough and it had Bucky biting his lower lip, to the point of cringing. 

“Stevie,” he says again, inhaling as loud as he could, holding in his breath until he could hear anything from Steve that wasn’t the sign of a forming asthma attack. “ _Breathe_.” 

“I— I can’t,” another cough.

“But you gotta try or you’ll fucking pass out and I can’t, I can’t just break down the door, it’s past midnight.”

“I don’t,” his voice grew closer. He could hear the rustling of Steve’s clothes, hear his back sliding down against the door, opposite side of Bucky, where he couldn’t reach him and it drove him crazy. “It’s — it hurts so… b-bad.”

“Okay, listen, you gotta calm down right? Just close your eyes and focus on trying to breathe slowly.” He slides down the door as well and takes a seat, if only to be on the same level.

“O-okay,” Steve responded to his orders, taking in a small, broken up breath. As he released, he fell into a fit of violent wheezing, getting Bucky to grit his teeth.

While he sits there uselessly listening to the disaster zone that is Steve Rogers’ health his nails dig little red craters into his palms. He doesn’t notice until he eventually unclenches them and feels the distant sting. After an actual eternity passes it seems like Steve is able to, more or less, catch a starting deep breath, which means Bucky can breathe easier too. Another unnecessary silence thickens and spoils the air around them. Now he’s not even tired; the adrenaline rush from worrying about whether or not he’d have to cause a scene to save Steve from his own damn self has him wide awake. Great, maybe he’d call in sick. It didn’t seem like the best of days to leave Steve alone.

“...you alright?” His own chest is pretty tight from all the ‘excitement’, which happened sometimes. He’d lovingly refer to them as sympathy pains because it only ever happened around and because of Steve. 

“‘m fine,” Steve sounded a lot hoarser than he did even ten minutes ago, like his throat was still being restricted. “Bucky.”

“Yeah?” He, on the other hand, just sounds miserable. As awkward as things are he’d rather be able to at least see Steve, or better yet, hold him. 

“I’m,” something thumped against the wood, and he assumed it was Steve’s head if that small hiss of (“ _Shit_ ”) meant anything. “‘m s-sorry.”

“If you’re really sorry— open the god damn door.”

“But—”

“But what?” His voice rises a little bit in frustration.

“I’m scared. Really fuckin’ sc—” cough “—scared.”

“You’d be less scared if I was holding you, you know that.”

The handle turned and metal lightly clicked. “I’m scared about — I don’t want you to…”

He practically trips over himself getting up to open the door but breathes a sigh of relief the moment it’s open. The sight of Steve in a small pile on the floor is, sadly, nothing new, but particularly pathetic this evening. Bucky shuts the door behind him but doesn’t bother locking it, sits down on the wooden floor next to him, and scoops him up. He tries his best not to think about the blood because there was no way they could talk about it right now without things going downhill again. 

He cradles Steve in his arms for a bit and just shakes his head, both in awe and frustration. Now there were more things to worry about, bigger, more threatening things that he had no clue how to handle. “Next time, don’t lock yourself in a god damn coffin, do you want to die or something? Idiot.” Despite the insult it’s spoken with care. 

“No,” Steve all but whispers, his arms lacing over Bucky’s shoulders and clutching around his neck. Bucky was noticing features about Steve that he couldn’t see in their, lacking light, bedroom: his eyes that were bloodshot to hell and back, the tip of his nose that matched in its redness, the tiredness that washed over his expression. Steve was sucking in his lips, but he kept watching Bucky, lashes fluttering more than they should’ve. “ _No_ , I don’t wanna die.”

Honestly, as handsome as he is, he’s a bit hard to look at for too long right now. Bucky supposes they’re both in less than great condition at the moment, but looking at Steve just makes him frustrated and a little bit hurt. That thought makes him internally roll his eyes; ah yes, think about your own pain while someone else nearly dies. Good one Buck!

He just pulls him closer (but makes sure not to squeeze him too hard) and rubs his back. “New house rule: you’re not allowed to lock doors anymore. Even when I’m not here, just in case this happens again.” A pause. “The asthma thing, I mean.”

Steve’s head was pressed against Bucky’s chest, and it was almost a whole minute before he was nodding, hair full of static and clinging to his shirt. “Okay,” he felt Steve’s blunt nails scratching at his skin, “guess it makes sense.”

Bucky’s mouth opened, was going to say “Yeah, it does”, agree with him, maybe scold him a bit more. But Steve took up that space when he said, very muted, made Bucky strain to hear him. “None of that was— not about you. Not your fault either.” 

Both of them are pretty tense but he can almost feel the exhaustion wafting off of Steve. He was a bit cold, too. For the nth time that night/morning, he finds himself at a lack for words. He just gives a nod to acknowledge the words and keeps quiet, lost in thoughts he’d rather not have to think about. The main thing was why, why would he do such a thing, but again he tries to shove it aside. It was abundantly clear neither of them had it in them to figure anything out right this moment. Probably, he should just take Steve back to bed and force him to sleep so he could spend all night trying to sort out the facts.

Whatever those were. It didn’t make sense, he’d thought bringing him here would be a good thing, ideally for both of them, but if Steve was happy or comfortable, then…? The more he tries not to think about it the more he thinks in obsessive cycles, until his head throbs and it’s been minutes of sitting on the bathroom floor. Both of his feet are starting to burn with numbness so getting up is going to be a minor trial. First one, then the other, are stretched out and he wiggles his toes a bit before attempting to stand. Rather than do the logical thing of letting go of Steve to help him up, he just drags him up too and they both lean against the counter for a few moments.

With a grimace Bucky peeks around the floor, the cupboards, and the door, making sure not to leave any blood in plain sight. It seems he hadn’t bled too much, just enough to scare the hell out of him, but there was still a few stains here and there. Best to clean those up sooner than later, but first he had to get Steve back to bed, and in a clean shirt. His stomach does several flips at the notion he should probably bandage it up, whatever it actually was. He still hadn’t even seen where the blood came from, he was only assuming because he knew Steve’d been given his father’s pocket knife a few years back (wasn’t too big, but it’s one of the only things he had left of his dad) .

“You still bleeding? Cause, if you are, we’re probably gonna have to bandage you up. Just to be sure,” he opens the medicine cabinet and looks at a glass jar of ointment, “probably put some of this over… it.”

Steve was rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels. The moment he curved a finger around the elastic of his waistband, Bucky immediately darted his attention elsewhere. “It stopped. I’m- I’m fine.”

* * *

The gruesome twosome make their way back to their room and Bucky suggests he change before excusing himself for a moment to go erase the evidence. Maybe… maybe they were doing something wrong, if it was causing Steve to hurt himself. It takes less than two minutes to get the place clean again but he spends a few extra moments recovering. Simply standing there alone, lost in thought and wide awake. Part of him is afraid to go back too soon lest he does see the wounds, the other part is emotionally drained and frantically trying to come up with some kind of solution. Nothing comes to mind.

“Buck,” is whispered down the hallway and he sees Steve’s head peeking out from their bedroom. He looks expectant, arm outstretched with wiggling fingers, gesturing for him. “Come here. Please.”

“I’m comin’,” he sighs and shuffles towards him, perhaps just a tad unenthusiastically. “I, just wanted to, uh, make sure…” He gestures vaguely to the bathroom. “Yeah.” For the third? Time that night he enters the room and closes the door, heading almost directly to bed, taking an absent hold of Steve’s wrist to make sure that’s where he’s headed too. He takes up his usual spot again and they fall into nearly the same position they’d been in only a half an hour or so earlier. 

Steve pulled Bucky closer to him, resting himself again on his shoulder, pulling one of Bucky’s arms to drape over his upper waist, careful to avoid the danger zone. “Hey.”

“Mmm.” A lazy response but he doesn’t protest the cuddles at all.

“You know— what you’d said earlier?”

Another mumbled reply coupled with a vague nod.

“No, Buck, answer me. When you said— y’know. You meant it?”

He nods, a little more firmly. “Course.” He gives a gentle squeeze and scoots a little closer. “What, you think I just lie out my ass all the time?”

“No. I don’t think you’ve ever lied to me… right?”

“Never, not even if it meant helping out someone else. Especially that. It’s nice to have other friends, I guess, but you’re the only thing that really matters to me.”

(Steve smiles very faintly but looks away)“Buck. I wanna ask you something—” (he looks back at him, foreheads pressed together. He runs his fingers down his bicep) “—can I?”

“Why would you bother asking to ask something?”

“I ‘unno. Guess I’m just checking to make sure you’re still in the mood for talking right now.”

“I sure as shit ain’t gettin’ to sleep any time soon, so fire away.” He idly plays with the hair on the nape of his neck. 

“How do you think I feel about you?”

“Guess you must like me, I mean why else would you put up with me? Dunno if it’s any better here for you than home, s’really hard to tell. I thought… well, I thought it was good but I’m not so sure anymore.”

He groans, “You’re so stupid. ‘Course it’s better here than home. Better in ways you wouldn’t believe. I-I know it’s… it’s all confusing right now, but, trust me. It really is better here” his brows furrow a little or some kind of expression of uh, ptsd pain. “Can I, um, ask you another thing?”

“Yeah,” It’s almost a sigh but he’s trying not to seem short with the constant insecurity.

Steve gets pretty quiet and he starts speaking then doesn’t know how to finish it. “Do you,” he breathes deeply, ducking his head against his neck again, “do you think I love you?”

He bites his lip and ponders it over, wondering if it’s too presumptuous to pop out an instantaneous “yes”. He was pretty sure of the fact, after years of spending as much time as possible together, but who could ever be sure about what went on in other people’s heads. “What kind of a question is that? Seems a bit unfair.” 

“What do you mean unfair?” Now he’s meeting his eyes again, licks across his front teeth. “You— you said you love me. I’m just asking you if you think that’s how I feel too, because, I ‘unno. I’m feeling like you’re doubting that I feel— that I love you too.” 

His body is a little tense but not the bad kind, he’s just a bit pleasantly surprised to hear it. “Like you said, maybe it’s okay to be a little shy sometimes. I can never tell how much is purely from you and how much is prompted by me, if that makes sense.”

“James,” cups his jaw, kisses him again, “everything I’ve ever told you has been cause I wanted to, not because you forced it outta me or made me say it, or whatever.” he teasingly flicks the side of his head, “Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that little brain of yours.”

“Same could be said of you. I’m too afraid to even ask what the hell all that was about.” Vague gesture to his hip. 

“You can ask me.”

“I am, you moron,” He wheezes quietly in his efforts not to sound like an asshole.

Steve’s lips flatten.

* * *

In the morning Bucky decides not to call in even though he does in fact feel a bit sick. He knows it’s only from the stress, from staying up all night, from the thoughts now eating away at his brain. What could possibly be driving Steve to do such a thing, and how much of it was his fault? They go about their morning routine on autopilot, sitting next to each other as always, across from the girls. Screaming, always with the screaming, but today in particular it grated on his nerves. He couldn’t leave the kitchen quick enough.

Before parting ways (sometimes he walked Steve to school since his one job wasn’t too far past, with school almost done for him he had more free time than the blond), he catches Steve upstairs. He gives him a big hug and asks him to be good, even asks for his knife on impulse. As if Steve was going to do anything at school where those rat bastards would notice, but still, he’s paranoid. Too much on his plate, both mentally and physically since he’d hardly touched his breakfast. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2018 and 2020 with a friend but we never managed to finish. :-(


	6. Stucky #5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve surprises Bucky with something he desperately needs for Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern day AU. No powers. Existing relationship. Pre-serum Steve.
> 
> This story is finished, just a short one-shot that idk where else to post. Lmao

**Baby, it's cold outside**

* * *

It's not like Bucky didn't enjoy the cold. Of course he did; winter was actually his favorite season, believe it or not (maybe because ninety percent of his wardrobe consisted of solely black things and it was usually too hot to wear it any other time of the year). The cold never really bothered him much to begin with. He stayed warm and could get warm easily. Rather, it was Steve that was the one with the sensitive skin, getting cold when it was seventy degrees out ( _"James_ ," he'd whine, " _lemme put your sweater on, I'm fuckin' freezin_ ", but Bucky sometimes thought that was just an excuse for him to 'borrow' his clothes). 

When they were in high school, Bucky'd always tease Steve, throwing his hands under his shirt if he'd been outside for too long, or causually dropping ice cubes down the back of his neck. Sure, maybe not the nicest thing in the world to do to your boyfriend. But, hey, Steve still put up with him after all these years for some reason. Bucky wasn't the one to blame in this situation.

Now, you see, Bucky really did love everything that was included in the whole winter package— lounging about in front of the fireplace like a bum with his little man, wrapped in flannel blankets with accompying cups of steaming cocoa, checking out the reindeer exhibits they always had once a year at the zoo, or even, embarrassing himself at Rockerfeller. Just last week, the two of them had gone skating for the first time that year with Sam, Nat and, of course, Clint. Everything was pretty smooth sailing until Bucky got a bit too cocky and, him being a showboater bit him in the ass as he hit an uneven patch of ice and fell flat on his face. Bloodied lip and nose. Was a great look, 'course Clint had to post it to Instagram.

The only thing he really _didn't_ like about this time of the year though was, you probably guessed it. Not even snow as an entire concept, but just the deed of having to shovel it. Despised it. Made him grit his teeth and sick in the stomach when he'd spot those little snow flakes on the seven day forecast.

Bucky was still living at home with his folks; hadn't always been though, moved out with Steve when he was bordering on turning nineteen, getting their own shoebox of a place closer to Queens. The only reason they'd moved back in, and yes, the two of them into Bucky's childhood house, was because Steve was struggling to put himself through college. Steve, in the end, didn't manage to score a scholarship like he'd always hoped for and there was no way Bucky was going to let Steve give up what he'd been dreaming about since they were six years old.

His mom had offered them a room in the house, free of rent, if they'd help out with groceries and chores and all of that. Becca was still at home too, in her senior year, and that sometimes meant Bucky had to pick her up from school. Honestly though, he didn't mind because his mom had really gone out of her way to help them out. It was a pretty sweet deal, all in all.

Because it was an actual house though, and not an apartment complex like they'd grown use to, no one was hired to clean off all the sidewalks. Before, that hadn't even been a second though, and all the loose snow was shoveled before you'd even wake up. Now, Bucky was the one put in charge of all shoveling duties; driveway, steps, surrounding sidewalk, and so on. He didn't mind this as much either, except for when he was trying to leave for work and got stuck shoveling away the shit for nearly fourty five minutes. He'd been late more times than he could count on his fingers (and toes) combined, his tires skidding out or getting stuck because apparently he hadn't done a good enough job.

There were the few lucky times where they didn't get a fresh new dump of snow overnight, but those times were rare and far and few between. It felt great when he could immediately take off after starting up his car, and he cherished those moments, as ridiciouls as that sounded.

He was starting to get real damn sick of piling clumps of dirted white onto their front lawn. And, even though Bucky himself never felt overly bothered by the weather, he was still human afterall. His body started reacting in, well, ways a normal body should react when he started going outside more and more often without any glovese on. He knew rushing out there after taking a shower wasn't the wisest of ideas, but, he was a more "live in the moment" kinda guy. Sometimes it was an honest mistake, forgetting to throw on a beanie or scarf, but there were also the times he skipped those essiential items just out of convience. 

Bare fingers in five degrees, and sometimes below zero, was more than stupid... He got an earful once Steve found out. And, how did Steve find out? Because, one time after Bucky got off of work, he stopped by the school's rentable studios to pick up Steve so they could pick up dinner for the night. Went to the grocery store by their place, decided on getting a frozen pizza, and the second Bucky opened the freezer and the nippy air bit at his skin, he could feel his hands tensing up with an instanenous numbing sensation. He cringed at the pain, but also at Steve's long lecture about how he never takes care of himself and he's going to have to become his caretaker to overlook his fucking stupidity. ("You're such an idiot, James, Christ," Steve still laughed when he said this, but obviously it was true).

There were times he'd get jaw aches too, sometimes his ears would burn at the tips from the chilled air. He really was too stubborn to care though and kept pushing through it. Not like he hadn't out his body through bouts of torture before (massive flashbacks to his rebelious days of tenth grade, and that time he'd fractured his wrist because him and Steve'd decided to break into a community pool after hours to go skinny dipping. Ah, the good ol' days of youth.)

It was six in the evening on a Thursday and Bucky was just now pawing at his phone, trying to silence his blaring alarm. He'd always held down odd jobs, picking up more shifts than one man could realisticly handle here and there (he mostly worked in retail or as a bus boy, whatever would give him enough money to comfortably put into their savings). But, since Christmas was right around the corner — and he really wasn't into the whole (mostly materialistic) concept of Christmas, which was pretty ironic — he took up working at the mall during the day, wrapping presents for busy shoppers. By night, he was stocking and checking inventory at a local warehouse.

His sleep schedule was all over the place, complete shit by this point, and he was more than exhausted even after he'd down six cups of esseprso. Was worth it though for the money; he was making enough to set aside into Steve's college funds, afford groceries for the four of them for the rest of the month and, even have a bit of extra spending money to get Steve a present or two.

Downside though — he felt like he hardly got to see Steve anymore, and when he did, it was like they got two seconds together before one of them was back out the front door. Sometimes he'd see him for a bit in the morning, waking him up to make waffles as he dreaded having to go outside after. Always saw him before drifting off to sleep. Couldn't help but miss him though, miss actually seeing him and sitting on the couch together as they rewatched I Love Lucy episodes for the hundreth time.

Bucky's blurred eyes were trying to force themselves open, but they felt weighted down and stuck, like there was still business left unfinished in his dreams. The longer he forcibly kept them open though, the more his groggy mind adjusted back into reality; he could hear a faint squeak of what sounded like their bedroom door. With his face still shoved into his pillow, he grumbled out the side of his mouth, "'m up."

Sometimes Becca would peak her head in to make sure Bucky was getting a move on, but, he didn't hear anyone reply. He wasn't sure if he was hearing things, or if it was somehow the wind, or— the mattress started shifting and then his back was being weighted down (well, not by much).

Steve's lips brushed against the back of Bucky's ear as he softly chuckled, his slender fingers wrapping around both of Bucky's wrists; Bucky shook him off to take the entirety of his hands into his own instead. "Doesn't seem like it."

"Swear, I am," Bucky couldn't help but laugh despite himself, his nose brushing against cotton. He was so tired and taking the day off sounded like such a good idea, in theory, but he knew he couldn't. But the warmth of Steve ontop of him coupled with their already warm sheets was beyond tempting... 

"What're you doing back so soon?" Bucky let go of Steve, only to elbow him in the side, throwing himself on his back. Steve shuffled his way next to Bucky, curling into his side like he normally did, chin pressed to his shoulder. Though at an awkward angle, he leaned to kiss Steve's forehead (felt a bit clammy, and it made Bucky start to question if he was feeling okay), but Steve waved him off.

"Class was cut short 'cause of a blizzard coming in. That's all."

"Blizzard — you're kidding." Bucky sucked in his lips. Great, just great. That sounded lovely. Oh, sleep really was starting to sound like a better idea now.

Steve's slightly darker browns raised, his forehead creasing with. "You still got work, you think?"

"Well, let's see," Bucky squinted as his screen flickered on, the light all too crude. No new messages, no missed calls. Seems like everything was just as usual. Perfect. "...seems like it."

"How long do you have before you gotta go?"

"S'like... less than an hour 'til my shift starts. Traffic's gonna be bad too, I'm guessin'," he felt his chest starting to puff but he tried to swallow his groan. Needed to conserve his energy for the long night he was about to face. 

"So you gotta get going then?" Steve was running circles across the waistband of Bucky's grey sweats, and he knew he was smiling, could feel it. Also saw the same sort of grin reciprocated back on his boyfriend's face. As much as he wanted five, maybe ten, more minutes to be useless in bed, he knew he wouldn't be able to shower (or get dressed for that matter, which is kinda important) if he did. 

He kissed him again, but this time with a proper one on the lips, giving him a playful slap on the chest after. "Unfortunately."

Quickest shower of his entire time — he almost wished he'd asked Steve to time it, felt like all of thirty seconds before he was frantically looking for a towel, his body shaking — and he was sliding into the only washed pair of jeans he could find lying around. He pushed open the door, zipping one of his favorite hoodies all the way up (this was the same one he used to wear for track; was comfortable and reminded him of when he'd skip meets to go goof off at the arcade instead with Steve).

Halfway down the stairs and he could see Steve lingering around the living room. He fingercombed his still damb hair into place, watching the blond who restlessly leaning against the couch's arms. Their eyes met as he reached the floor, wood creaking. 

"You heading out?"

"Yeah," his eyes danced between his two coats; he opted to go with the heavier wool one this time. Sliding his arms into the sleeves and quickly tossing the ends of a scarf around his neck, he nodded towards Steve. "Gonna be back a little after midnight, but, if you're still up, maybe we can do something?"

Steve straightened his posture, his hands finding their way around the lapels of Bucky's coat. He smiled up at him, the blues of his eyes just as tired as he was, but also glistening a bit from some of the colorful lights they'd strung up. "Like what? Candlelight dinner on the bed?"

"Or," he stretched out the word, rubbing their noses together, "pizza and a movie?"

Steve snorted. "That works too."

"Okay," he kissed the top of Steve's head. Reaching for his keys, he jostled the doorhandle, a deep sigh being ripped from his lungs at the intense cold of the night. "Don't gotta wait up for me. If you do sleep though, text me so I won't be getting pizza to eat it by myself."

"Will do." As soon as Bucky took one step outside, snow crunching under his shoes, he felt a rough tug on his cuff. Craning his neck, he was met with a more than perturbed expression from the shorter blond. He had one hand on his hip, his cheeks puffed out. "The hell you think you're doing?"

"Thought I was leaving, but, guess not."

"You don't see the problem here, or...?"

He glanced at his, again tensing, fingers. "Yeah, alright. I get it." Steve was then spinning on the heels of his feet, reaching above the wall hanging coat rack to snatch a pair of fleece gloves from the little shelf. He was shoving them into Bucky's hold, his nose wrinkling. 

"Don't know if you're tryng to lose your hands on purpose or what. If you don't put these on, I swear."

"Steve, ain't even that cold out. 'm fine," he stashed them in his pocket, against Steve's pleading whines. "See you later. Love you."

"Love you too," and at that, Bucky closed the door behind himself. Christ, maybe Steve was right, because no shit, his muscles were starting to tense up as soon as any amount of the warmth from inside left him. Fishing around his pocket to unlock his car, he threw himself inside, blowing quick breaths against his palms, rubbing them together.

The leather of his seat was so cold he could feel it through the denim of his jeans and it made him almost shiver. He quickly turned his keys, messing with the setting of the heat. That was one thing he was thankful about with his shitty car — truly was a second hand piece of crap, but at least it got warm, and pretty quick at that (was also great for the summer, although his AC didn't get super cold).

Bucky rolled his eyes — he was about to admit defeat, going against his own grudge of wearing anything on his hands (except, maybe, quite possibly, hypothetically, a ring someday). He licked at the roof of his mouth, sliding on his gloves. He started wondering if they were huge on him, because they weren't exactly snug on him either.

* * *

Once he wore those gloves, there was no going back. He was converted. He'd seen the light at the end of the tunnel and fell in love with the warmth they provided him. Poor Steve, never saw them again 'cause Bucky just kept wearing them. Didn't really seem like Steve minded much though, was just happy his boyfriend wasn't going to lose his hands entirely this winter.

It was Christmas Eve and some of Bucky's family had flown in for the holidays. Both his aunt and uncle along with his grandma. Their house wasn't the biggest thing ever, but, there was a reason they always used it to host parties and not their grandparents. Could comfortably fit enough people with a spare bedroom or two for everyone. Steve hadn't seen Bucky's relatives since... probably last Christmas, now thinking of it.

Dinner was full of potatoes and five thousand questions of, "So, when did you say the wedding was?" ("Not quite there yet, grandma"), and "Oh Steven, you poor thing. Let the boy have thirds! Are you sure you're getting enough?" ("No, really, I'm fine"). They'd eventually managed to escape after offering to be on dish duty; they finished scrubbing about half of the plates before they escaped out the back door into the living room, setting themselves on the floor in the darkness of the unused office space. The window in their was nice though, streetlights illuminating a sliver of Steve's face, and the twinkle of the Christmas tree reflecting off the glass.

"You're not gonna jump on me tomorrow like when we were little kids, right? Kinda wanted to sleep in for once," Bucky's arm was snaked around Steve's shoulders. He was pawing at his pocket; he'd stashed a present in their earlier that evening.

"I mean, no promises," Steve laughed into his neck, his hair itching at the unshaven gruff of Bucky's chin. "Sleeping in does sound really good, actually."

"I know. That's why we're doing it," he gave him a squeeze. "Know you're excited though. S'been your favorite holiday since I met you."

"Like you don't like Christmas."

"Steve," his head lulled in his direction. "Only reason I care about it is 'cause of you. You know that."

"But, you do like it on some level then."

"Like the memories from it, sure," he winked. "Hey..." He was thumbing over the wrapping for a second time, slowly pulling the package from his front pocket. He watched as Steve ever so slightly cocked his head.

"Buck — what's that?" There was a lopsided grin growing on his face once he could really see what it was. Bucky was feeling jittery, his nerves starting to put him over the edge. Wasn't even like he was giving him some crazy present or anything, just seeing Steve happy and excited always made him a bit antsy. He wanted to see his reaction.

He leaned closer, kissing across his short bangs."Open it. Early Christmas gift."

And, so he did. Took the present from Bucky and, slowly, he peeled back the tape with a scape of his fingernail, undoing the snowflake printed blue wrapping without utterly destroying it. When he pulled out a brand new pair of leather gloves (nice ones at that, costed him a pretty penny), Bucky almost choked at the volume of Steve's laugh.

"Guess this means I'm officially never getting mine back, huh?" He held up the gloves to the light.

"Right you are, bud. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, jackhole."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2018.


End file.
